Cain reached the warehouse as the sun ducked behind the skyline.
The outer gates had been twisted open weeks ago. Wind pushed through slanted holes in the metal siding, making the entire shell groan. The air smelled like dried coolant and rain on rust.
The burner in his coat buzzed once. Then again. He stepped inside.
Concrete crunched beneath his boots. Long-forgotten crates stood like tombstones. A loading crane hung overhead like a skeleton in chains. The blinking signal on the burner steadied. He was close.
Something shifted to his right.
Cain's hand brushed the pipe at his back, fingers light. No draw. Just ready.
Two shapes moved out from the shadows behind a forklift.
No uniforms. No insignias. But they weren't street rats.
One tall. Long reach. His knuckles swelled like old damage never healed right. The other moved lower, lighter on his feet. Faster. Eyes sharp.
Neither spoke.
Cain read it in their stances, not a greeting. Not a threat.
A test.
The fast one moved first.
Cain ducked under the first strike. Felt the wind off the blow as it passed his temple. No blade. Just knuckles.
The second one charged with a boot kick meant to fold his ribs. Cain caught the leg mid-step and twisted, using the man's momentum to send him into the crate stack behind. Wood splintered. A crash.
Fast came back quicker. Slid low. A cut across Cain's thigh, shallow but burning. Blade now. Cain kicked him in the gut before he could reset.
He dropped. Rolled. Came back up.
Cain didn't wait. Closed the distance. Disarmed him with a twist and a shove. Knife in hand now.
Strong was already up, charging. Cain stepped aside, let the heavy man pass, then slammed the knife hilt into the back of his skull.
Not deep. Just enough.
The big one stumbled. Collapsed to a knee. Cain elbowed the side of his jaw. The body dropped.
Fast stood, breathing hard. No blade now. Just fists.
Cain looked him over.
Didn't want to waste more time. He stepped in. One fake. One shift. Then a knee to the gut, and a blow to the throat. Fast crumpled.
Cain stood over both. Breathing steady. Hand bloodied. Knife grip tight.
The System didn't ping.
He waited. Nothing.
Knockouts don't count.
He pocketed the blade.
Toward the back of the warehouse, a stairwell door hung crooked in the frame. A scuff of blood on the handle.
Cain approached it, eyes still on the floor.
The next step wasn't a fight.
It was a door.
Cain tested the door handle once. Locked. Old bolt. Too clean.
He took a step back and slammed his shoulder into it. Pain burst across his collarbone. The door didn't give. He stepped back again, braced one foot, and kicked hard.
The bolt snapped. Metal screamed. The door swung open.
Stale air hit him first. Thick. Copper and mildew.
The stairwell led down in tight spirals, the walls pressed close. Every step echoed wrong like the sound got caught and choked halfway down. He gripped the handrail, watched his footing. Water dripped somewhere deep. A dull, mechanical hum rolled under it, constant and buried.
At the bottom, a flickering panel light glowed above a narrow hallway. The concrete was cracked. The air was colder here. Cain scanned the floor boot marks in dried blood, dragging scuffs leading to the final door at the end.
He moved slowly. Pipe still at his back. Knife ready in hand.
No traps. No cameras. Just a steel door sealed with a magnetic latch and a keypad long dead.
Cain checked the edges. Found a maintenance lever disguised behind an old breaker box. It hissed open when he pulled it.
The door released with a deep, tired click.
He pushed it open.
The room beyond was windowless and square. One bulb swung from a broken fixture. In the center, a metal chair bolted to the ground. Shackles lay empty at its base. A data slate sat propped on the chair, blinking blue.
Cain stepped closer.
The slate came alive as he picked it up. No boot-up. No menu. Just one line of text pulsing gently:
"You were supposed to die."
Cain didn't move.
The slate flashed again. New text.
"System anomaly detected. You are the only variable."
Cain's pulse kicked. The words vanished as quickly as they came.
[Override Authorization: Revoked][Countdown Timer Stabilized][Freelance Contract Updated: Target 'Roach' | Level: B]
He stared at the messages, jaw clenched.
No one should be able to modify the System. No one should know it exists.
Eli's voice stirred in the back of his mind, panicked.
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
Cain tuned it out. Focused.
There was only one exit from the room. A back panel, steel and smooth. Reinforced.
Then it shook.
Once.
Then again. Three knocks. Paused. Four more.
A rhythm. Deliberate.
Cain stepped back, blade lifted.
Then a voice came through the door, muffled but clear:
"You're late, Ghost Rat."
Cain didn't answer.
He stared at the door.
Footsteps echoed behind it.
Then silence.
His grip tightened.