The package arrived at exactly 9:00 AM.
Not 8:59. Not 9:01. Exactly nine, like whoever delivered it had synchronized their watch with an atomic clock. I opened my door to find a black metal case sitting in the hallway—no delivery person, no note, just the case.
It was heavy. Military-grade, by the look of it. Biometric lock on the front.
My phone buzzed.
EQUIPMENT DELIVERY CONFIRMED
PRESS YOUR THUMB TO THE LOCK
I did. The case clicked open.
Inside, nestled in custom foam cutouts: a tactical vest, lightweight but reinforced. A pair of gloves with rubberized knuckles. What looked like a high-end smartphone but thicker, more rugged. And at the bottom, a collapsed baton—the kind that extended with a flick of the wrist.
No guns. No knives. Nothing lethal.
A note card sat on top:
Elite Clients expect discretion. Lethal force attracts attention. Incapacitate, don't eliminate. Return equipment after mission completion. Damage fees apply. —V
I pulled out the vest. It was lighter than I expected, flexible, with pockets everywhere. The material felt wrong—too smooth, almost frictionless.
My phone buzzed.
NEW EQUIPMENT REGISTERED
TACTICAL VEST (BASIC): +5 DEFENSE, +2 AGILITY
COMBAT GLOVES (BASIC): +2 STRENGTH, UNARMED DAMAGE +15%
SECURE PHONE: ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATIONS, GPS SCRAMBLING, MISSION SUPPORT
COLLAPSIBLE BATON: MELEE WEAPON, DAMAGE: MODERATE, CONCEALABLE
CURRENT STATS (WITH EQUIPMENT):
STRENGTH: 6/10 (+2)
AGILITY: 8/10 (+2)
DEFENSE: 5/10 (+5)
INTELLIGENCE: 6/10
CHARISMA: 6/10
LUCK: 2/10(EQUIPMENT CAN'T FIX EVERYTHING)
I put on the vest. It molded to my body like it was custom-made. The gloves fit perfectly. I tested the baton—one flick and it extended to two feet of solid steel.
For the first time since accepting the Elite Mission, I felt like maybe, maybe, I had a chance.
The secure phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
Mission Brief downloading. Read carefully. Your life depends on it.
A file appeared: HOLLOWAY_KIDNAPPING_BRIEF.pdf
I opened it.
TARGET: Sophia Holloway, Age 16
KIDNAPPED: 72 hours ago, 3:15 PM, outside Westbridge Preparatory Academy
SUSPECTS: Unknown. No ransom demands received by police.
RANSOM: $20M (private demand to Richard Holloway, not reported to authorities)
DEADLINE: 24 hours remaining
LAST KNOWN LOCATION: Unknown
POLICE STATUS: No leads. Investigation stalled. FBI involved but making no progress.
CLIENT NOTES: Richard Holloway suspects inside job. Daughter's security detail was compromised. Requests complete discretion. No police involvement. Recovery priority: daughter's safety over perpetrator capture.
YOUR OBJECTIVES:
Locate Sophia Holloway Extract her safely Neutralize kidnappers (non-lethal preferred) Return Sophia to client
PAYMENT TERMS:
50,000 credits upon successful extraction Bonus: +10,000 credits if completed within 12 hours Penalty: -5,000 credits for excessive property damage Failure: No payment. Reputation loss: SEVERE.
ADDITIONAL RESOURCES:
Client will provide one lead (see below) Secure phone includes mission-specific tools Emergency extraction available (one-time use, 5,000 credit fee)
THE LEAD:
Sophia's bodyguard, Marcus Chen, disappeared same day as kidnapping. Phone last pinged near Riverside Industrial District. Chen has military background—Special Forces, dishonorable discharge. Known associate: Thomas "Reaper" Walsh, private military contractor.
BEGIN INVESTIGATION AT: Riverside Industrial District, Warehouse Row
I read it three times. Each time, the four percent success rate felt more accurate.
Military-trained kidnappers. A missing bodyguard who was probably in on it. Twenty-four hours to find a girl in a city of three million people.
"I'm going to die," I said aloud.
My phone—the regular one—buzzed. Text from Derek.
Derek: Bro you missed an INSANE party. Jenny was asking about you. You still alive?
I looked at the tactical vest. The baton. The mission brief promising fifty thousand dollars or death.
Me: Alive. Barely. Working on a project.
Derek: You're such a nerd lol. Later dude.
Yeah. Later.
I activated the secure phone. The interface looked similar to the Hero for Rent app but more sophisticated. A map showed Riverside Industrial District highlighted in red. Three waypoints marked: Chen's last phone ping, known PMC safehouse, abandoned warehouse cluster.
A notification appeared:
INVESTIGATION PHASE ACTIVE
GATHER INTEL BEFORE ENGAGEMENT
RECOMMENDED: STEALTH APPROACH
TIP: Elite Missions reward creative solutions. Brute force reduces payment and increases failure risk.
Creative solutions. Right. Because I was known for my creativity, not my ability to barely survive by the skin of my teeth.
I strapped the baton to my belt, pocketed both phones, and headed out.
Riverside Industrial District was exactly as depressing as it sounded. Abandoned factories, rusted warehouses, cracked pavement sprouting weeds. The kind of place where bad things happened and nobody noticed.
I started at the first waypoint—Chen's last phone ping. An empty lot next to a shuttered textile factory. Nothing obvious. No tire tracks, no blood, no convenient clues.
My secure phone buzzed.
INVESTIGATION TIP: USE ENHANCED PERCEPTION
NEW SKILL AVAILABLE: TACTICAL ANALYSIS (BASIC)
COST: 500 CREDITS
EFFECT: HIGHLIGHTS INVESTIGATION POINTS IN ENVIRONMENT
Five hundred credits. About a third of what I'd spent on rent.
I bought it.
The world shifted. Colors became sharper. Details jumped out—a cigarette butt near the fence, fresh tire marks in the dirt, a scrap of fabric caught on chain-link.
I photographed everything with the secure phone. The app analyzed each image:
CIGARETTE: Turkish brand, expensive, not commonly available
TIRE MARKS: Commercial van, heavy load, recent (24-48 hours)
FABRIC: Security uniform material, matches Westbridge Prep colors
A trail. Faint, but there.
The tire tracks led south, toward the warehouse cluster. I followed on foot, keeping to shadows. The secure phone's GPS scrambling kept me off any cameras or tracking systems.
The warehouses loomed ahead—three massive structures, windows broken, doors rusted shut. The middle one had fresh marks around the loading dock. Recent activity.
INVESTIGATION POINT DETECTED
PROBABILITY: HIGH
CAUTION: HOSTILES LIKELY PRESENT
I circled the building. Two entrances: front loading dock (exposed, loud) and a side door (rusted but accessible). I chose the side door.
It opened with a metallic groan that echoed across the empty district. I froze, waiting for alarms, gunshots, anything.
Silence.
Inside, the warehouse was a maze of crates and machinery. Dust particles floated in shafts of light from broken skylights. The air smelled like oil and rust and something else—something organic and wrong.
I moved slowly, baton ready, following the secure phone's guidance.
Voices ahead. Male. Two, maybe three.
"—told you, Reaper, this is getting too hot—"
"Shut up. We stick to the plan. Holloway pays, we release the girl, everyone walks away rich."
Reaper. Thomas Walsh. The PMC from the brief.
I crept closer, using the crates for cover. My Tactical Analysis skill highlighted safe paths, potential threats, structural weaknesses.
The voices came from an office on the second floor—accessible by a metal staircase. Through the grimy window, I could see three men. One was huge, military-built, covered in scars. Reaper. The other two were smaller, nervous-looking.
No sign of Sophia.
"Where's Chen?" one of the nervous guys asked.
"Chen's handled," Reaper said. "Focus on—"
A sound behind me. Footsteps.
I spun. A fourth man stood ten feet away, holding a radio and a very large gun.
We stared at each other for exactly one second.
Then he raised the radio: "We got—"
I threw the baton.
It hit him square in the throat. He dropped, gasping, the radio clattering away.
CRITICAL HIT: ENEMY SILENCED
STEALTH MAINTAINED (BARELY)
I grabbed the radio before it could transmit and pulled the man behind a crate. He was conscious but couldn't talk, clutching his throat, eyes watering.
"Where's the girl?" I whispered.
He pointed up. Second floor. Different room from the office.
"How many guards?"
He held up two fingers.
"Thanks." I knocked him out with the baton handle—a calculated strike behind the ear, just like the app's combat tutorial had shown me.
ENEMY NEUTRALIZED (NON-LETHAL)
+100 CREDITS
STEALTH BONUS ACTIVE
The secure phone updated:
OBJECTIVE LOCATED: SOPHIA HOLLOWAY
GUARDS: 2 (MODERATE THREAT)
MISSION UPDATE: EXTRACT TARGET WITHOUT ALERTING MAIN FORCE
Without alerting. Right. Because the three armed military contractors downstairs wouldn't notice me walking out with their twenty-million-dollar hostage.
I climbed the stairs carefully. Each step was a century of potential noise. The second floor had multiple rooms—old offices, converted storage, and one door with a shiny new padlock.
Through the gap under the door, I could see light. Hear breathing.
Two guards stood outside, armed with handguns, looking bored.
My secure phone buzzed:
TACTICAL OPTIONS:
A) DIRECT ENGAGEMENT (Success: 45%)
B) DISTRACTION + AMBUSH (Success: 67%)
C) CREATIVE SOLUTION (Success: ???)
I looked around. Old warehouse. Structural damage. Rusted pipes. Electrical conduits.
Creative solution.
I climbed onto a support beam above the guards and followed the pipes to a junction box. The secure phone's interface highlighted it: POWER DISTRIBUTION—EXPLOITABLE.
I used the baton to pry open the box. Inside: old wiring, breakers, a disaster waiting to happen.
I flipped three breakers.
The lights died.
"What the—" one guard started.
I dropped from the beam.
The first guard went down hard—baton to the knee, then the head. The second one spun, fumbling for his gun in the dark.
I hit his wrist. The gun clattered away. He swung at me. I ducked, swept his legs, and finished him with a strike to the temple.
COMBAT COMPLETE
ENEMIES NEUTRALIZED: 2
STEALTH MAINTAINED
TOTAL TIME: 8 SECONDS
BONUS: +300 CREDITS
Downstairs, Reaper's voice: "What happened to the lights?"
"Probably the generator," someone replied. "I'll check—"
No time.
I grabbed the padlock. The secure phone's lockpicking interface activated—a mini-game showing pins and tension.
LOCKPICKING ATTEMPT
DIFFICULTY: MODERATE
YOUR SKILL: UNTRAINED
I fumbled with it. The pins kept resetting. Sweat dripped into my eyes.
Footsteps on the stairs.
"Someone's up here!" Reaper shouted.
The lock clicked open.
I burst through the door.
Sophia Holloway sat in a chair, wrists zip-tied, tape over her mouth, but alive. Her eyes went wide when she saw me—tactical vest, baton, looking like a discount superhero.
I pulled the tape off gently. "I'm here to get you out. Can you walk?"
She nodded.
I cut the zip ties with the baton's edge.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Someone your dad hired." I handed her my regular phone. "Call 911. Tell them—"
The door exploded inward.
Reaper stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, holding a shotgun.
"Bad move, kid," he said.
And fired.