SONS OF WAR HQ – DISTRICT I – DREAM CITY – DAY
The air inside the gym was thick with sweat, discipline, and unspoken hierarchies. Metal clanged. Gloves thudded against bags. Voices barked in sync with each strike. Among the chaos, Sakarah walked in—calm, focused, a quiet storm in a world of noise.
Heads turned. Even the cockiest young trainees paused. Jimbo raised a hand to wave, instinctively. But Goro caught his wrist mid-air.
"Don't," Goro muttered, eyes narrowing. "Not now. Look where she's heading."
Sakarah didn't stop. She passed through the jungle of bodies, sweat, and grit, heading straight for the ring.
Inside it, John, Midas, and a seasoned trainer were mid-session. Midas still bore a faint purple gash across his brow—a memento from the war games. He spotted her first.
"Well, well," he grinned. "Look who we have here."
John paused. There was something unreadable in his gaze. He already knew—Cox had told him. The girl was to be placed under their wing, officially licensed, officially theirs. John hadn't liked it, but Cox had made it clear:
"Behind all the bodywares and synthetics, you two still feel human. That's rare. That's why she needs you."
Sakarah shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of expectation. She had beaten one of their best. And now? She'd train under him.
What could possibly go wrong?
Before she could speak, Midas leapt from the ring and scooped her up like a doll. The room held its breath—was he about to slam her?
No. He hugged her—tight and loud and messy.
"John! We got the kicker!" Midas whooped. "I wasn't even looking forward to this... but now? Oh, this is gonna be fun!"
He put her down. Sakarah was drenched in sweat, face flushed. Midas beamed, genuinely thrilled.
"War games? Kid, you had me guessing my own moves! I haven't had that kind of fun in years. You're sharp and that head shot, that's how you do it!"
Someone asked if he was angry.
"Angry?!" Midas cackled. "Do you know how good it felt to get outplayed by a rookie gor once?"
Then, gesturing beside him, he added, "This here's John. My partner. He doesn't talk much—but don't let that fool you. He listens harder than most people scream."
Sakarah nodded at John. He stared back. Silent. Heavy.
Midas kept rambling cheerfully, but her thoughts were elsewhere—on John.
He didn't know she knew.
That he had been part of the failed operation that led to her father's death.
That he was the only survivor.
She hadn't expected to be placed under his watch. She had wanted to get close. To understand what happened. And now? Fate had done it for her.
Close enough to ask.
Close enough to learn the truth.
A flicker. Feline, the AI, popped into view—shimmering in a geometric arc.
"An incident has occurred," she said. "Involving a Death Merc. Retributor."
Midas blinked. "That's not our guild. Why're you telling us?"
"Bineth Global has taken control of the investigation. The case has been reassigned. Cox wants you both in her office."
Midas groaned. "Guess we're detectives now."
He and John exchanged glances and headed out.
Sakarah lingered.
Jimbo and Goro approached. Jimbo gave a sly grin.
"Big-time now, huh?"
Goro crossed his arms. "You owe me a spar."
Sakarah smirked—a real smirk.
"You sure? You're not ready."
"Try me."
And just like that, the weight on her shoulders lightened—just a little. She was Sakarah, prodigy, backup, recruit, mystery. And now, part of something much bigger.
The room dimmed as a live holographic feed crackled online. Dr. Ara Honami appeared, projected in sharp clarity—her expression calm, almost surgical. She represented Bineth Global , called in due to the peculiar nature of the incident.
Around the table stood Cox, John, and Midas, with Feline, the feline-themed AI, flicking through data streams, organizing files in real time.
"Darius Kiln. Male. Fifty-four. Bineth-enhanced. Former Death Merc, retributor class." Ara's voice was clinical as she narrated, while Feline projected a full digital dossier. Holographic images of Darius's face, medals, combat logs, and medical files hovered in midair.
Cox picked up the thread. "Last night, around 0100, Darius was celebrating both his birthday and retirement. Club Zenthra. Family, close friends, his wife, two daughters. In our business, that kind of sendoff is rare. Exclusive invite. It was the kind of night you plan if you're lucky enough to walk away clean."
Feline opened two additional displays. Surveillance footage from outside the club played.
"Zenthra operates under Free District Law. No internal surveillance—like most businesses in DII. These are from exterior feeds."
The first video showed Darius entering the club, visibly in good spirits. Smiling. Laughing. A man trying to enjoy peace.
Then, forty-five minutes later, he staggered out—clearly a little drunk. He fiddled with his comm, trying to open a display. The screen glitched. He froze in place... unmoving for nearly five minutes.
And then—he turned and walked straight back inside.
Three minutes later, chaos erupted. Fire. Screams. Bullet trails. The footage trembled as explosions lit up the doorway. Flames poured from within.
Silence followed in the briefing room. A shared weight.
Dr. Ara broke it. "Darius was enhanced with thermal-based Bineths, but he hadn't used them for nearly a year. His medical records indicated a spinal degeneration—prolonged and untreated. It made activation painful. He was also a recurring PTSD patient, known to our facilities. I recommended retirement. His guild didn't agree until now."
She paused, eyes lowered for a moment. "He was due for a zero-flush—complete Bineth deactivation. He was looking forward to it. That was two days ago."
Cox nodded grimly. "We don't know what happened inside, but the Death Mercs' preliminary findings point to a massacre."
Midas turned to him, stunned. "He killed them?"
No one answered.
Ara continued, more softly this time. "Toxicology found traces of Void in his system."
That drew attention. The room shifted.
Void. A banned enhancement drug. Infamous for numbing pain and amplifying Bineth use at the cost of severe mental degradation. It was considered the street-level equivalent of emotional shutdown—a kind of synthetic apathy.
John narrowed his eyes. "So he was a maniac… why are we investigating this? Shouldn't it be internal?"
Ara responded by displaying a new image. A zoomed-in shot of Darius's bloodstream.
The Bineth particles shown were dark—pitch black, inactive. Not glowing orange like standard readings.
"This is where things get strange," she said. "This is a state we sometimes see after prolonged overuse—a kind of burnout this is why we recommend a flush periodically But in Darius's case there's no evidence the Bineths were ever active. No energy signature. No heat discharge."
John leaned forward. "They just… went dead?"
"In a way, yes," Ara replied. "No exertion. No decay trail."
Cox crossed his arms. "Bineth wants to know why. What happened inside that club, Death mercs believed some victims were burnt to charr, exposed to high intensity flame, this would point to the fact Bineth were involved. Feline is working on three memory discs retrieved from the scene. They're damaged, but intact enough to recover something. Maybe."
Ara gave a small nod, her gaze sweeping across the three of them.
"This investigation is extremely confidential" 'Class Z' and should be treated as such Bineth thanks you as always for your cooperation, you will be reporting directly to me throughout the investigation."
The hologram fizzled out.
Cox turned to John and Midas. "Take the girl with you. President Arishima's not thrilled Bineth pulled this case out of his hands into ours. Be careful if you cross paths and watch out for the police, John, there were victims, civilians who lost their lives."
With that, they were dismissed.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun glazed the edges of Dream City in a faint red hue. Midas leaned against the hood of the transport, arms crossed, visor half-shut as he exhaled sharply.
"Class Z case file? Johnny, did i hear that correct? Why do you think Bineth's crawling up our swiny for this?" he muttered.
John stood still, eyes narrowed as if replaying every word from the briefing. "an active retributor goes psycho mood, possible uncontrollable Bineth use, not a good story they want out,"
His comm crackled.
Plukett.
John stepped aside to answer, voice low. She sounded hurried. "Try to pull up Steven Baflin's files," she said without preamble. "I tried, but I don't have the clearance."
"Where are you now?" John asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.
"Heading to The Rock. Gonna talk to a former colleague of his. Dr. Eleana Dovely. She might know what he was working on before he died."
"Okay, about baflin's wife, I need thermal signature scans,"
"You still don't think that was me, right?"
"No, just a hunch, something I need to check," John returned. She sent it.
"Got it, Be care—"
But the line cut. Gone. Just static.
John lowered the comm slowly.
Midas grinned, elbowing him. "She cut you off again, huh? Damn, Johnny. That your girl, ex-girl or your parole officer?"
Before John could retort, Sakarah approached them, hair tied back, eyes alert. She looked like she hadn't slept, and still managed to carry a presence like she'd walked out of a war and back into another.
Midas waved her over.
"Road trip, rookie. You ever drive long range?"
She blinked, then nodded. "We were trained,Yeah, sure."
"Trained? Oh no, I have seen alot of trainees drive to last me a lifetime of trauma, Feline is driving then."
John frowned. "Wait, why?"
Midas puffed out his chest mockingly. "Because I'm banned from driving for the next month. Remember that little incident with the railbus and the bar that shouldn't have been there, I got a charge for it,"
Sakarah looked to John.
"He totaled an entire intersection," John explained dully. "And I don't drive."
"Don't let him drive, not even if your life depended on it," Midas added, pointing at John. "Guy drives like he's afraid the car'll judge him. I'd rather crawl."
Sakarah smirked, just a little.