CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40: EXTRA C AND RING RING RING

The ATM stood on a corner where the glamour of Aversque Boulevard started to rot.

Here, the neon lights flickered with a buzzing hum, like dying insects. The pavement was cracked, weeds poking through the concrete like desperate fingers. It was the kind of place you only went to if you needed cash for something you didn’t want on a credit card statement.

"This is it," Sebastian said. He held his phone up, comparing the GPS pin to the machine. "The location code matches."

The group stood in a semi-circle. Sebastian, Eric, Emily, Anna, Lia. And me. A bunch of high schoolers standing around a cash machine like it was a shrine.

"It looks... normal," Emily whispered.

"It’s a machine," I said. "It doesn’t have feelings."

"We need eyes," Sebastian said. He spun around, scanning the street. "Cameras. Witnesses."

There wasn’t much. A shuttered laundromat. A dark alley. And across the street, a convenience store with a neon sign that read ’OPEN 25 HOURS’—the ’4’ had burned out.

"There," Sebastian pointed. A small, dome-shaped camera sat above the store’s entrance, pointed directly at the street. Directly at the ATM.

"I’ll handle this," Sebastian said, adjusting his collar. He flashed a confident, dazzling smile. The kind that usually melted teachers and made cafeteria ladies give him extra pudding. "Charm is my superpower."

"Good luck," I muttered.

We watched from the sidewalk. Sebastian walked in. We saw him lean over the counter, talking to the clerk—a guy with greasy hair and headphones around his neck. Sebastian gestured. He smiled. He looked earnest.

The clerk didn’t even look up from his phone. He waved a hand in a ’shoo’ motion.

Sebastian tried again. He looked desperate now. The clerk pointed at the door.

Sebastian walked out, his shoulders slumped.

"He said unless I have a warrant or I’m buying the whole store, I need to get lost," Sebastian sighed. "He called me a ’prep school narc.’"

"Charming," Lia noted.

"Let me try," Eric said.

"No," I stepped forward. "You guys are too shiny. You look like you belong on a poster."

I walked across the street. The bell jingled as I pushed the door open. The air inside smelled of pine cleaner and stale hot dogs.

The clerk was still scrolling on his phone.

I walked to the counter. I didn’t smile. I didn’t plead.

"Marlboro Red," I said.

The clerk grabbed a pack and tossed it on the counter. "Twelve bucks."

I put the cash down. Then I leaned in, just a little.

"You might want to check your tape from two nights ago," I said, keeping my voice flat. "Around midnight."

The clerk finally looked up. "Why?"

"I saw a guy in a hoodie swipe three bottles of that top-shelf whiskey you keep behind the register while you were in the back. Then a kid came up to the ATM outside." I shrugged. "If the inventory is short, it’s coming out of your paycheck, right?"

It was a simple lie. Greed and self-preservation were much stronger motivators than empathy.

The clerk’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the whiskey shelf. It was full, but he didn’t know if I meant that night. Paranoia is a hell of a drug.

"Two nights ago?" he grunted.

"Yeah. Midnight."

He huffed, turned to the small monitor sitting next to the register, and typed on a greasy keyboard. "If you’re wasting my time..."

"Just checking."

He rewound the footage. Grainy black and white images sped backward.

"There," I pointed.

On the screen, a figure walked into the frame. It was Mike. Even in low resolution, he looked like a wreck. He was hunched over, glancing over his shoulder every two seconds. He walked to the ATM, his movements jerky.

"That’s him," I said. "Can you zoom?"

The clerk tapped a key. The image pixelated, but it was clear enough. Mike was shaking. He shoved his card in, took the cash, and turned around.

He didn’t run. He stood there, frozen.

A car pulled up to the curb. A black sedan. Expensive. Tinted windows.

Two men got out. They were wearing suits. They didn’t run at him. They didn’t pull guns. One of them just opened the back door of the car and waited.

Mike hesitated. He looked left, then right. He looked like an animal caught in a trap, realizing chewing its leg off wasn’t an option.

His shoulders dropped. He got in the car.

The men got in. The car drove off.

"No whiskey thief," the clerk grunted.

"Must have been the wrong night," I said. "My bad."

I grabbed the cigarettes and walked out.

"He got in," I told the group. "A black sedan. He looked... coerced."

"Coerced?" Sarah asked. "Like... kidnapped?"

"Like he had no choice," I said. "Like he owed them something he couldn’t pay with just money."

"Which way did they go?" Sebastian asked.

I pointed north. Up the street. Toward the dark silhouette that loomed over the district.

"That way."

We started walking. The mood was heavy. The streetlights stretched our shadows out, making us look thin and fragile against the pavement.

Ten minutes later, we hit the fence.

Chain links topped with razor wire. DANGER. KEEP OUT. CONSTRUCTION ZONE.

Beyond the fence, the skeletal remains of Syn Hotels rose into the night sky. It was dark, silent, and imposing. But I knew better. I knew that beneath the concrete rot, the basement was alive with light and money.

"That’s it," Eric said. "That’s where the car went. The tire tracks lead right to that service gate."

"We have to go in," Sebastian said. He grabbed the fence, shaking it. "If Mike is in there..."

"We can climb it," Eric added. "If we boost each other—"

"Stop," I said.

They turned to me.

"Look at the cameras," I pointed up. On the nearby poles, sleek black domes were mounted, their red LEDs blinking rhythmically. "And look at the gate. That’s a magnetic lock. This isn’t an abandoned building. It’s a fortress."

"So we just leave him?" Emily asked, her voice rising.

"We don’t get ourselves killed," I said. "You sneak in there, you don’t come out. These people aren’t school bullies. They’re professionals."

Sebastian let go of the fence. He looked defeated. He looked young.

"Then what do we do?"

Buzz.

My pocket vibrated.

I pulled out my phone. A text from Peridot.

[P: Audio is scrubbed and ready. It’s juicy. Sent to your secure box.]

"I have to go," I said.

The group stared at me.

"What? Now?" Anna asked. "Abel, we’re in the middle of this."

"My... aunt," I lied. "She fell. I have to go pick her up from the hospital. Family emergency."

It was a weak lie. But I didn’t care.

"Seriously?" Sebastian asked. "Right now?"

"Right now," I said. "Don’t do anything stupid. Go home. We meet tomorrow at school. Don’t go in there."

I turned and started walking away before they could argue.

"Abel!" Anna called out.

I waved a hand without looking back.

Lia fell into step beside me for a second. She didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead.

"Send me the audio," she whispered.

"Go home, Lia."

"Send it. Or I tell them you’re lying about your aunt."

I stopped. I looked at her. Her eyes were hard.

"Fine," I muttered. "Later."

She nodded and turned back to the group.

I walked until I turned the corner. Then I started to run.

I didn’t go home. I couldn’t risk Anna walking in on me listening to this.

I found a quiet spot in a park three blocks away. I sat on a bench under a flickering lamp post. I put my earbuds in.

I opened the file.

Static. The sound of ice clinking in a glass. The scratch of a pen on paper.

Then, Nathaniel’s voice. Clear. Arrogant.

"The glitch is patched. It was a one-time exploit."

A pause. Then, another voice. Deeper. Older. Distorted by the connection, like it was coming through a speakerphone.

"Good. And the funds?"

"We’re ahead of schedule," Nathaniel said. "The harvest is exceeding projections. Vangels is bleeding them dry. I have the transfer ready."

"Amount?"

"Four hundred thousand. Wired to the offshore account."

"Rooney will be pleased," the deep voice said. "The Main Event is set for the 15th. We need the full amount by then. No delays. No loose ends."

"There won’t be loose ends," Nathaniel said. "I handled the issue with the... non-compliant assets. Gary won’t be a problem. Neither will the kid from North High."

"Make sure. We are building an empire, Nathaniel. Don’t let a few children ruin it."

"Understood."

The recording ended.

I sat there in the dark. The silence of the park felt heavy.

Rooney.

The same name Scott had mentioned. The shadow looming over the arcade business. And now, looming over the Student Council.

Nathaniel wasn’t just a rich kid playing gangster. He was an employee. A middle manager for a crime syndicate that was strip-mining the student body for cash.

Four hundred thousand dollars. From high schoolers.

It was sick.

"The 15th," I muttered. "That’s in four days."

The Main Event. Whatever it was, it was the deadline. And deadlines in this world usually meant bodies.

I stood up. My legs felt stiff.

I needed a cigarette.

I reached into my pocket, but instead of the box, my hand brushed against my phone.

It was ringing.

I pulled it out. The screen glowed in the darkness.

Unknown Number.

I stared at it. Nobody called this phone. This was my personal number, not the burner I used for Peridot. Only Anna and the school had this.

Unless...

I swiped answer. I didn’t speak.

Silence on the other end. Then, a voice. Smooth. Charming.

"Hello, Abel."

My blood turned to ice.

It was Nathaniel Reed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting your evening," he said. "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?" I asked, my voice steady.

"For the pen," he said. "You left it in the suite. A nice pen. Very... high tech."

I gripped the phone tighter. He found it.

"We should talk," Nathaniel said. "About patterns. And about what happens to people who try to break them."

"Come to the Lounge. Now. Or maybe I’ll send a car to pick up your roommate. Anna, is it?"

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone.

The park was quiet. The wind rustled the leaves.

"What a hassle," I whispered.

But my hand was shaking.

He knew.

And he had threatened Anna.

I put the phone in my pocket. I reached into my bag and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes. I lit one.

The smoke filled my lungs. It didn’t calm me down.

It just fueled the fire.

"Alright," I said to the empty night. "You want to play?"

I started walking. Not toward home.

Toward Syn Hotels.

"Let’s play."