The old Order base was buried deep beneath an abandoned textile factory in eastern Hungary, no official records, no digital footprint. But Beth had found it.
She'd called it "a needle in a damn haystack of encrypted garbage." But her voice trembled with quiet pride when she sent the coordinates.
"There's something down there, Bob. High-volume energy logs, a cleared satellite feed, and a deep signal spike on the Order's internal comms."
Bob hadn't responded. Just vanished into the night.
Now he stood in front of the crumbling factory entrance, the sky above flat and gray, like it too was holding its breath.
He walked through the front gates without slowing. His boots echoed across cracked concrete, stepping over rusted machines and faded banners. The place reeked of mold, blood, and old power.
Behind the main production floor, he found the staircase, exactly where Beth said it would be. Hidden under a false floor panel, biometric-locked. But the lock had already been fried.
Someone had left in a hurry.
Descending the metal stairs, Bob entered a tunnel lined with flickering lights. The deeper he went, the warmer it became, until he felt it: fear, lingering like smoke.
They'd used this place recently.
His hand brushed the wall, darkness curling around his fingers like smoke, ready.
Then the door at the end of the corridor hissed open. A guard stood inside, stunned at the sight of him.
"Oh shi—"
The man's words never finished. A tendril of shadow wrapped around his throat and snapped.
Bob stepped over the body.
Inside was the command center, a mess of overturned chairs, half-loaded weapons crates, and static-covered screens still showing surveillance feeds from around the globe.
Bob's eyes locked on the far wall: a mural, hand-painted in red.
Lucien's symbol.
He didn't slow. He made his way deeper, past interrogation rooms, laboratories, holding cells. Then, in a briefing room at the end of the hall—
He found the survivor.
A high-ranking Order tactician, bleeding from a gash across his temple, trying to crawl to the emergency exit.
Bob stood in the doorway, silent.
"You're… too late…" the man rasped. "He has the boy… and he'll never bring him to you…"
Bob walked closer, shadows following his footsteps like wolves.
He crouched beside the man.
"He will," he said quietly.
The tactician spat blood. "You'll die like the others… like Hope. Do you know how he killed him? He used one of your clones to poisoned him. He thought it was you. How does that feel, hmm?"
But Bob wasn't listening anymore. His eyes drifted to the blinking red light above them.
A drone, hovering in the corner, had been filming the entire time. Beth had said it was part of a private Order relay network.
Perfect.
Bob turned toward it, stepped into the frame.
His eyes burned red. Smoke curled from his fingers.
"Lucien. That day we first met… you told me you wanted to rule the world."
A long pause. Cold silence.
"Come to me. And bring the boy."
His voice dropped low, each syllable carved from wrath.
"Come, defeat the only guy that can stop you. Or God help me… I will burn the world to the ground. There will be nothing left for you to rule..."
Then he turned, and without a second glance, snapped the tactician's neck.