The air in Macau was thick and humid, clinging to Kael like a second skin. It carried the scent of money, seafood, and quiet desperation.
He stood in a narrow alley behind a dim sum restaurant, wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit that itched. His cover: Marko Belic, a Serbian mercenary in Macau looking for work. Marko's past, fabricated by Oracle's team, was filled with Balkan conflicts and shady security jobs in Europe. A resume just dirty enough to be believable.
A gleaming black sedan pulled up at the end of the alley. The back door opened, and a portly, bald man with sunglasses covering most of his face stepped out. This was Bao, the head of Liang Wei's security detail.
Bao squinted, looking Kael up and down with unconcealed disdain.
"You Marko?" he asked in broken English.
"Yes," Kael replied, his voice low and gruff, just as Oracle had coached. No emotion, just business.
Bao jerked his head toward the car. "Get in. The boss wants to see you."
Kael complied silently. The car's interior was leather and smelled of expensive cologne, a stark contrast to his suit. Liang Wei sat across from him, a wiry middle-aged man in an Armani suit, scrolling on his phone with one hand. His other hand toyed with a large jade ring.
He didn't even bother to look up. "You have experience with... 'sensitive' cargo?"
"I have experience keeping the man who pays me safe," Kael answered. "No matter what the 'cargo' is."
Liang Wei finally looked up, his small, beady eyes scanning Kael like a machine. "Bao says you're from Serbia. That place is full of war and death. Good."
He turned to Bao. "Test him."
Bao nodded. He moved suddenly, a straight punch aimed directly at Kael's face.
He's testing me.
Kael's reflexes were lightning-fast. He didn't dodge completely. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, letting the punch graze his cheek, just enough to cause a mild stinging burn. At the same time, his hand shot out and grabbed Bao's wrist, his fingers clamping down on the pressure points.
CRACK.
Bao's meaty hand went limp, paralyzed. The smug look on his face morphed into one of surprise and pain.
Kael held the position for a second, his cold gaze meeting Bao's, then let go.
"Good reflexes," he said in an even tone, as if nothing had happened.
Silence filled the car. Liang Wei let out a laugh, a hoarse, appreciative cackle.
"Alright. You're hired," he said. "Don't disappoint me. Tonight is an important night."
Kael just nodded. He had passed the first test. But he knew the real ones were still to come.
The Fortuna Grand Hotel and Casino was a monster of glass and steel, rising from the Macau skyline like an arrogant finger pointed at the sky. Inside, it was a symphony of controlled chaos. The singing of slot machines, the rattle of dice, the chatter of moths drawn to the neon flame.
Kael, now in a non-descript black security uniform, walked half a step behind Liang Wei. He could feel the weight of the pistol concealed in his jacket, and a small, cold device in his pocket. The tracker.
"Spectre, do you read?" Oracle's voice came through the micro-earpiece hidden in his ear. The sound was unnervingly clear, as if she were whispering right behind his neck.
"Loud and clear, Oracle," Kael replied in his mind. The earpiece had a sensor that worked off the subtle vibrations in his jawbone. He didn't need to speak aloud.
"Good. I'm tracking you through the casino's security cameras. Their network is dense, but not without holes. You have two of Liang's other guards to your left, and Bao to your right. Maintain position."
Kael's eyes flickered. It was true. He was part of a diamond formation protecting Liang Wei as he moved through the crowded main hall.
They didn't head for the usual VIP areas. Instead, Bao led them to a service elevator in a quiet corridor. He swiped a black keycard, and the elevator descended. Deep down.
The feeling of the elevator dropping made Kael's stomach tighten slightly. It wasn't nerves. It was anticipation. The focus of a predator.
"We've detected another party of interest entering a separate elevator," Oracle announced. "The security detail of Yamamoto Kenji, head of the Inagawa-kai. His team lead is a former Japanese Special Forces operative. Callsign: Oni. He's good. Avoid direct engagement."
Oni. Noted.
Kael filed the information away. Another variable in an already complex equation.
The elevator doors opened. They were in a bare concrete sub-level, a total contrast to the glamour above. The air was cold and smelled of disinfectant. Dozens of men in black suits stood guard, all armed with automatic weapons.
This wasn't an auction. This was an arms deal.
Bao spoke to one of the guards in Cantonese, presenting his card. The guard nodded and motioned them through a thick steel door.
"You're about to enter the main chamber," Oracle said, her voice a little tighter now. "From this point on, I will lose video feed. I will only have your audio. You'll be on your own. Remember, Spectre. Intel, not confrontation. You are a ghost."
"Understood," Kael murmured, soft enough for no one to hear.
He took a deep breath, calmed his heart rate, and stepped through the door.
The room beyond was not a grimy warehouse. It looked like a minimalist art gallery, or a surgery. The walls and floor were sterile white, lit by cold banks of LED lights. In the center was a circle of black leather armchairs, all facing a single titanium pedestal in the middle of the room.
About a dozen men were seated there. The shot-callers. Kael recognized a few faces from Oracle's briefing. Yamamoto Kenji of the Inagawa-kai, sitting ramrod straight like a statue, a man with a scar running down his temple beside him. That had to be Oni. Several other Triad leaders, looking fat and complacent.
They all looked like vultures waiting for a feast.
Liang Wei was led to his seat. Kael and Bao stood directly behind him, their hands folded in front of them, their eyes scanning the room, assessing potential threats. The atmosphere was thick with suspicion and testosterone. One wrong word, one wrong move, and this place would become a slaughterhouse.
Kael felt the tracker in his pocket. Small, cold. He needed to get to that pedestal. How?
After a few minutes of suffocating silence, the lights in the room dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight on the pedestal in the center.
A man in a pristine white suit stepped out of the shadows. He wasn't The Broker, Kael knew. He was just a salesman. An auctioneer.
"Gentlemen," he said in perfect English, his voice echoing in the room. "Welcome to our exclusive presentation. We know your time is valuable, so we won't waste it with trivialities."
He smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Tonight, we have only a single item. A quantum leap in asymmetric warfare. An asset that will permanently shift the balance of power on your streets."
He gestured.
Two technicians in hazmat suits rolled the titanium briefcase Kael had seen in the briefing onto the pedestal. They undid the latches with a series of satisfying CLICKS.
The entire room held its breath. Even the most jaded crime lords were leaning forward.
Kael felt his heart give a single, hard thump. This is it.
The auctioneer placed his hands on the lid of the case.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice full of drama. "We present to you... project 'Chimaera'."
He opened the lid.
And the next chapter of the nightmare began.