The warehouse wasn't quiet anymore. It buzzed with emails, phone calls, and reporters camped outside the gates. What had begun as whispers online now swelled into global noise.The warehouse was no longer sanctuary. Reporters clustered at the gates. Journalists sent emails with subject lines like: "Exclusive Interview: The Man Who Will End Oil?"
Michael muted them all. The Helios Core hummed, its light reflecting in his eyes. But the pocket watch ticked louder, faster. Six months, maybe less. The Core wasn't his invention anymore — it was his penance.
Every news feed spoke his name. Half the world hailed him as genius. The other half cursed him as fraud, anarchist, even terrorist.
He whispered to himself:
"Messiah, madman… maybe both."
Some called him the next Einstein. Others called him a fraud with "garage science." Protesters painted murals of his face as a savior. Counter-protests mocked him with caricatures.
Michael sat before the Helios Core, its hum steady, his hands trembling. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fire and shadows. Prometheus, chained. Icarus, falling. He couldn't tell if he was climbing or burning.
The pocket watch ticked louder, as if reminding him: Six months. Maybe less.
Claire's POV – Signs in the Shadows
Claire noticed the unmarked cars first. Claire had felt it long before Michael admitted it. The shadows. Cars idling too long. Men watching from corners with stillness no civilian carried.
Her instincts screamed. They weren't paparazzi. They were hunters.They idled a little too long at intersections. Faces lingered a little too long across the street. She recognized the signs — surveillance. Maybe government. Maybe worse.
That night, she sharpened a combat knife she hadn't touched in years. She loaded a pistol, checked the chamber twice. And when Michael asked why she was tense, she only said:
"Because I know the world doesn't give gifts without blood."
At night, she sat with Michael on the warehouse roof, stars overhead, the city below. He spoke of equations and possibilities, but she couldn't shake the sense of crosshairs in the dark.
Arthur's POV – The Mentor's Fear
Arthur walked through the warehouse stacks, brushing his hand along books Michael had torn through in days. He'd seen brilliance before, but this was different — it was hunger. A hunger that scared him.
He remembered the crash that killed Michael's parents, the boy at eighteen, hollow-eyed in the library. He'd guided him once. But this — this was a fire Arthur couldn't smother.
He told Richard Bellamy in private:
"Your daughter will be the tether to his humanity. Without her, he falls. And if he falls… he won't fall alone."
Richard's silence was the answer.
Arthur sat in his chair in the corner, the pocket watch's tick echoing in his ears. He saw the same boy he'd once held in a library years ago — broken, hollow, now burning too bright.
He murmured:
"Knowledge doesn't only climb, Michael. It devours. And if you're not careful, it won't just consume you — it'll consume everyone tethered to you."
Michael barely looked up. He was too deep in equations. Too deep in obsession.
Arthur closed his eyes. He feared what would come.
Jason's POV – The Whisper
Jason drank whiskey alone again. He overheard the whispers at the bar: "Michael Rivers is a goddamn savior." Another voice spat: "Or a fraud."
His hand clenched. He thought of Michael's grin years ago, the way Vanessa had looked at him...
Jason's glass trembled. He didn't say anything only only stared. He told himself he wasn't jealous, only cautious. But when he heard strangers mention Michael's name — with reverence — it twisted his stomach.
The same shadowed figure slid into the booth, faceless in the smoke. His voice purred like velvet:
"You see it now, don't you? The world crowns him while you're forgotten. But snakes know — kings fall hardest when struck where they trust most."
The Serpent coils tighter. Tonight, the test begins." The man in shadows voice smooth as silk.
Jason didn't answer. Silence was answer enough.
The First Strike – Assassination Attempt
Setup
Rain poured outside the warehouse. Claire patrolled the perimeter, instincts sharp. Michael scribbled inside, Core glowing behind him. Arthur slept in his chair, book fallen from his hands.
A flicker of red light on Michael's shoulder. A laser.
Claire shouted:
"DOWN!"
Glass shattered. A suppressed shot cracked into the desk. Michael dove, instincts pulling him flat.
---
The Fight
Claire rolled, pistol drawn, firing three shots through the window. A scream. A body fell. But more came. Shadows slipped through the doors — three men, dressed in black, silenced weapons in hand.
Michael's eyes snapped wide. He remembered. Every book he'd read on combat, every motion diagram, every strike pattern. His body moved before thought. He ducked under a swing, grabbed a knife from the bench, twisted into a disarm. Blood sprayed.
Claire covered his flank, efficient, brutal. Two rounds dropped another attacker. She moved like the soldier she had once been, cold and precise.
Arthur woke, panic flashing — then sorrow. "They've come," he whispered.
---
The Ticking
The watch on the desk ticked louder, faster, a drumbeat to the chaos. Each move Michael made felt like he'd practiced it a thousand times, though he never had. His gift had become survival.
He slammed one man into the wall, knife sliding across his throat. He panted, staring at his hands. They shook, not with fear, but recognition. He knew this now. Killing. Combat. Knowledge turned into instinct.
---
Aftermath
Four bodies lay still. Blood pooled across the floor. The Core still glowed, untouched, as if mocking them.
Michael slumped against the wall, chest heaving. Claire knelt beside him, hand trembling on his arm. Arthur's eyes brimmed with grief.
Michael whispered:
"They won't stop."
Arthur answered, voice low:
"No. Because you're not just a man anymore. You're an idea. And ideas… they're worth killing for."
Michael stood over the bodies, blood drying sticky on his hands. His chest heaved like a man drowning on land.
Claire stepped forward. Not tenderly — firmly. She pressed a hand against his shoulder, grounding him, not as a lover but as a soldier steadying another soldier.
"Breathe," she ordered, her voice sharp but steady. "Focus. You're alive. That's what matters."
Her green eyes locked onto his, not soft but unyielding. She wasn't giving comfort. She was demanding control.
Michael's breath slowed. The room stopped spinning. The ticking of the watch, however, did not. It grew louder.
Arthur, watching from the corner, his face pale and sorrowful, whispered words that Michael did not hear:
"The boy I raised is fading. And what remains… the world will come to fear."
The watch clicked again. Louder. A countdown none of them could stop.
World POV – The Ripples of Blood
CNN Breaking News: "Unconfirmed reports suggest an attack near the site of Rivers' experiments."
Twitter Trends: #SaveRivers / #FraudRivers / #FreeTheSun
Warsaw Mercenaries: "The Viper sent pawns. Testing him. He survived."
Paris Café: "The Whispering Fang misjudged. Now the myth grows."
CIA Briefing: "If Rivers has combat capability now, he is no longer simply a scientific threat. He is destabilizing on multiple axes."