Kai was with Alboro and his two men. They didn't talk to him. They just worked, quiet and efficient, their hands moving on habit while their eyes stayed fixed on the black water.
They loaded crates into the torpedo boat, no wasted words, no wasted movement. The night air smelled of salt and smoke, though the sea itself was calm. Engines hummed, low and steady, carrying them away from the rot of the city.
The military freight ship loomed in the dark, lights blinking faintly along its rusted frame. Men stood watch on deck, armed, but not hostile. A quiet transaction. Supplies stacked high — sacks of grain, sealed crates of ammo, tins marked with Russian script. They unloaded in silence, checked lists, signed papers. No smuggling chaos here, just routine.
Kai leaned on the railing, cigarette ash flicking out over the waves. "So this is where it all comes from."
Neither of Alboro's men answered. Alboro didn't either. He simply watched the crates change hands, a heavy man with heavier thoughts.
Once loaded, they pushed off. The torpedo boat cut through the sea with barely a shiver, slicing the water clean. Smooth sailing, literally. The boat barely shook.
For a few moments, Kai allowed the rhythm of the waves to wash over him, almost forgetting the city existed at all.
---
Elsewhere, Matt moved through the Red Circle's veins.
The supply center reeked of rot and powder. Drugs stacked in neat towers, crates bursting with Zone cash and credits. Probably millions. Enough to bankroll a war, or feed half a continent.
Shadows swallowed him whole. He stepped through one, appeared behind a guard, pressed a blade to his throat, and then was gone again. They never saw him.
He moved like hunger itself, quiet and inevitable. By the time the fire started, he was already gone. Flames chewed the warehouse from inside out, credits curling to ash, powders turning chemical-smoke blue. The Red Circle would wake to nothing but loss.
Two Red Circle enforcers leaned against the warehouse wall, rifles slung but hands restless. The night air stank of burnt chemicals and smoke. Unaware of the warehouse on fire.
"Say," one muttered, glancing over his shoulder, "I heard our headquarters got hit by a Flowride assault." His voice was low, but the unease in it carried.
The other spat onto the ground, jaw tight. "You heard right. Whole damn block swarmed. I heard it was Omen Trading who did it… and not just them. They had those two strays with 'em. The ghost with the shadows, and the one with the black cloud."
The first man shifted his weight, nervous. "Strays, huh? They don't sound like strays to me."
The second just grunted, eyes scanning the street. "Doesn't matter what they are. Boss says if they show their faces again, we bleed 'em."
"Say do you smell fire?"
---
At the end of the day, they all returned to Omen's warehouse.
The air inside was thick with smoke and iron. Maps spread across tables, contracts pinned with knives. Renn leaned against a crate, arms crossed, while Alboro sat heavy in his chair, eyes like stone.
Matt dropped into the room without a sound, shadows trailing him. "Their supply center's gone. Burned to the ground. But I found something."
He leaned forward, voice low. "They're building a dirty bomb. Not rumor. I saw the parts with my own eyes. Radiation cores, casings, enough explosives to light a zone on fire."
The room stilled.
Renn's smirk faded. "Shit."
Alboro exhaled, long and slow, his fingers tapping the table. "Then Red Circle's worse off than I thought. Good work. We'll deal with that."
But his eyes were already elsewhere, on a fresh slip of paper tucked into the corner of the map.
"Omen's got another contract," he said finally. "Zone Alpha. A clan wants medical shipments. Drugs, bandages, and a crate of recreational weed. Easy on paper, but it's a high-profile delivery. We'll run it Friday."
"Friday," Renn repeated. She glanced at Kai, then Matt. "Two days from now. We've got time."
Kai lit another cigarette, the flame briefly cutting the shadows. Time was a lie in this city.
---
That night, they didn't rest.
Matt and Kai pulled their hoods low and walked side by side through the streets, toward the Red Circle's remaining warehouse.
The city growled around them — neon dripping down cracked glass, engines snarling, distant sirens wailing like hungry wolves.
Ahead, the warehouse waited, heavy and dark.