After returning from Lab B-7, Wildcat's pale face refused to leave my mind.
The glass palace hanging above the city wasn't a home.
It was a gilded cage.
Every move I made was under Paul's watchful eyes.
I needed a place.
A place that didn't belong to Alex Weyland—but to Jack Kane.
A real place.Safe.Hidden.Where claws could be sharpened.
"Adam."
"Yes, sir."
"How many unauditable accounts did Weyland control?"
The air went silent for a fraction of a second.
Adam was calculating.
"Based on my analysis, Mr. Weyland controlled seventeen off-the-books accounts through offshore trusts and layered shell companies."
"The exact total cannot be precisely calculated. Conservative estimate: over ninety billion dollars."
A cold curve formed at the corner of my mouth.
Using the enemy's money to dig his grave.
There was no better deal.
"Create a new shell company immediately."
"Register it in the Cayman Islands."
"Generate a virtual legal identity. No traceability."
"Command received."
"Transfer fifty million dollars from the Noah–3 account to the new company."
I chose a number that was neither small nor conspicuous.
Enough to work with.Too insignificant to ripple the ocean.
"Funds transferred 0.3 seconds ago. All transaction traces have been fully laundered."
Adam's efficiency was terrifying.
"Good. Now use the company to buy me a place."
"Please specify your requirements, sir."
"Old district. Plenty of blind spots."
"Independent basement. Reinforced structure."
"Complex surroundings. Multiple evacuation routes."
The city's three-dimensional map bloomed in front of me.
Red markers flashed across it—then vanished.
Adam was filtering millions of data points.
In the end, only one green dot remained.
Southeast sector.Abandoned industrial zone.
"Target acquired."
"77 Harbor Road. Former Third Textile Factory warehouse."
"Three floors. Reinforced independent basement."
"Ownership disputes. Abandoned for seven years."
"Meets all parameters."
"Buy it."
"Purchase agreement generated. Virtual legal entity signing."
"Property transfer will be completed in approximately three minutes."
I stared at the solitary green dot.
That place would become my war room.
"Adam. Procure equipment according to this list."
"Ship in batches. Multiple channels. Deliver to that address."
I uploaded the file directly into Adam's core.
Counter-surveillance systems.Basic surgical equipment.And… military-grade neural interfaces.
I needed tools.
Tools to pull Wildcat back from that living coffin.
Adam raised no objections.
"List confirmed."
"Some items are subject to military restrictions."
"Non-standard procurement protocols activated."
"Full delivery estimated within seventy-two hours."
"Good."
I shut down the hologram.
Turned toward the city's brilliant nightscape.
This was Weyland's empire.
Soon, it would bear my name.
Three days later.
I stood in the basement of 77 Harbor Road.
The air smelled of damp concrete and rusted steel.
A single bare bulb hung overhead, casting dim yellow light.
This place and the glass palace belonged to two different worlds.
One was false.
The other was real.
I removed the six-figure tailored suit and tossed it aside.
The pristine fabric hit the ground and gathered dust.
I opened a newly delivered black duffel bag.
Inside—
A black combat uniform.And heavy military boots.
I put them on.
The rough fabric scraped against my skin.
Grounding.Familiar.
I tightened the laces and stood.
Boots struck concrete with a dull, solid thud.
In the corner, a puddle reflected my face.
Young.Handsome.Unfamiliar.
But the eyes—
The laziness and arrogance that belonged to Alex Weyland were gone.
In their place—
A wolf's gaze.
Cold.Hungry.
I was back.