Instinct screamed.

Not a whisper. Not a subtle warning. A full-throated alarm that made every nerve ending fire at once.

I stopped mid-step, hand shooting out to halt the others. We were in the convoy, maybe three minutes from Mark's fortress.

"What's wrong?" Evelyn asked immediately.

"Something's bad," I said, the certainty absolute even though I couldn't explain the specifics. "Really bad. You all need to stay with Valeska."

"Rey, we talked about this," Camille protested. "We're coming with you. We're not letting you—"

"No," I interrupted, my voice harder than intended. Instinct was still screaming, painting scenarios of danger I couldn't fully articulate. "Whatever's about to happen, you can't be in the middle of it. Stay with Valeska. Coordinate from here. I need to know you're safe."

"And we need to know you're safe," Sienna countered, her caring nature making her voice firm despite the worry.

"I'll be fine," I said, though I wasn't sure I believed it. "But I can't focus if I'm worried about protecting you. Please. Trust me on this."

They exchanged looks—communicating in that way people who'd been together through hell could manage without words.

Finally, Evelyn nodded. "Alright. But you're wearing a body camera. And you check in every ten minutes. If we don't hear from you—"

"You'll know something's wrong," I finished. "I promise."

Alexis helped me with the body camera—small, military-grade, broadcasting back to equipment Valeska had set up. Then she checked my gear with medical precision, making sure I had first aid supplies, that nothing would restrict movement.

"Don't die," she said quietly.

"Working on it," I replied.

The convoy stopped a block from the fortress. I climbed out, joining Samuel's forces who'd assembled in formation. Professional. Disciplined. Ready.

Samuel himself was there, wearing combat gear that looked both practical and somehow still presidential.

"Reynard," he greeted with a grin that didn't quite hide the tension. "Ready to make history?"

"One way or another," I said.

We moved forward as a unit, boots hitting pavement in coordinated rhythm. The fortress came into view—exactly as Liang's intelligence had described. Converted government building, fortified but not impenetrably so. Lights blazing from multiple floors.

And in front of it, a defensive line.

Mark's security forces had assembled outside the main entrance. Maybe forty personnel, all armed, positioned behind makeshift barricades and vehicles. Not military-trained—I could see that immediately from their positioning—but dangerous nonetheless.

We stopped about fifty meters away. Close enough to communicate. Far enough to have reaction time if shooting started.

Samuel's forces took defensive positions, using vehicles and street infrastructure as cover. I stood slightly forward, making myself visible. Making this personal rather than purely tactical.

The fortress's intercom crackled to life.

"Reynard Vale." Mark's voice, amplified and distorted slightly by the speakers. "I wondered when you'd stop hiding and actually show yourself."

"I'm here," I called back. "And you have a choice, Mark. Surrender peacefully. Face trial. Let this end without more bloodshed."

Laughter echoed from the speakers. Not amused laughter. The kind that came from someone who'd slipped past sanity's edge and found something darker on the other side.

"Surrender?" Mark repeated. "To you? To the son of the man who created me? Who made me what I am through his experiments? You think you have moral authority here?"

"I think I have the support of ninety percent of the world's population," I countered. "I think I have international military backing. I think you're alone in a building with security that's falling apart because you're too paranoid to trust anyone."

Silence from the speakers.

Then: "You know what I find interesting, Reynard? You talk about supporting the people. About caring for everyone regardless of rank. But you're enhanced. Multiple jobs. SSS-Rank title. You're part of the elite just as much as I am. The only difference is you pretend otherwise."

"The difference," I said, keeping my voice steady, "is that I don't think being enhanced makes me superior. Don't think the System should determine who deserves humanity and who doesn't. Don't implement policies that actively crush people for something they can't control."

"They could control it," Mark shot back. "They could work harder. Achieve more. Earn better ranks. But they're lazy. Weak. Content to blame the system instead of improving themselves."

I felt anger rising but pushed it down. This wasn't a debate. This was a distraction while Mark calculated his options.

"Last chance," I called out. "Surrender. Face justice. Let this end."

More silence. Longer this time.

Instinct screamed louder.

Then Mark's voice came through the speakers again, flat and cold.

"Kill them all."

The defensive line opened fire.

Chaos erupted instantly. The sound of automatic weapons fire filled the street—sharp cracks and deeper booms mixing into a cacophony that overwhelmed everything else. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness like strobe lights.

I dove behind a vehicle as bullets sparked off metal and pavement. Samuel's forces returned fire immediately, their military training evident in the controlled bursts and coordinated coverage.

Glass shattered. Concrete exploded where rounds hit buildings. Someone screamed—couldn't tell which side, couldn't tell if it was pain or rage or both.

I checked my weapon—loaded, safety off, ready. Tactical Firearm Handling made it feel natural, an extension of my arm rather than a separate tool.

Combat Movement Efficiency guided me between cover points. Moving low. Fast. Using the chaos to advance while Mark's security focused on the larger threat of Samuel's forces.

A contractor appeared around a corner, weapon raising toward me. Threat Prioritization identified him as immediate danger. I fired twice—center mass, exactly as training dictated. He went down.

I kept moving. Observation tracked the defensive line's positions, noting weak points and gaps in their coverage. They were focused on the main force. Weren't watching flanks properly.

Amateur mistake. Fatal one.

I flanked left, using building cover and darkness to stay out of sight lines. The firefight continued behind me—sustained, intense, the kind of engagement that would draw every defender's attention.

Exactly what I needed.

The side entrance was where Liang's intelligence said it would be. Service door, minimally secured. The kind of entrance meant for deliveries and maintenance, not defense.

The kind of entrance I'd used dozens of times in other operations. Different buildings. Same principle. Security always focused on main entrances while leaving side access under-protected.

Almost comical how predictable it was.

I checked the door—locked but not reinforced. Mechanical Mastery from my astronaut training helped me understand the locking mechanism. Simple electronic system. Thirty seconds with the bypass tools Valeska had provided and it clicked open.

I slipped inside, weapon ready, letting the door close behind me.

The contrast was immediate. Outside: chaos, gunfire, shouting. Inside: relative quiet, just the muffled sounds of combat filtering through walls.

I was in a service corridor. Maintenance equipment. Storage. Utilitarian lighting casting harsh shadows.

Somewhere in this building was Mark. His command center. His personal quarters. Wherever he'd holed up while his security died protecting him.

I needed to find him. End this face-to-face. Make sure the world saw what happened when you built power on cruelty and hierarchical philosophy.

Observation noted security cameras in the corners. Probably being monitored. Probably already knew I was inside.

Good. Let Mark know I was coming. Let him feel what it was like to be hunted.

I moved deeper into the fortress, Combat Movement Efficiency keeping me tactical, Threat Prioritization assessing every corner and doorway.

The building was a maze of corridors and rooms. Converted government architecture meant it wasn't designed for defense—just bureaucracy that happened to have thick walls.

I passed offices. Conference rooms. All empty. Mark had pulled everyone to the front defensive line, leaving the interior minimally staffed.

Another amateur mistake.

Or maybe he was that paranoid. Couldn't trust anyone to be near him except at designated times and locations.

I climbed stairs, moving toward upper floors where Liang's intelligence suggested Mark's command center was located.

The sounds of combat were fainter now. Muffled by distance and building structure. But I could still feel them—vibrations through the floor, the occasional louder explosion that penetrated walls.

Samuel's forces were pressing. Mark's defenders were losing ground.

Time was limited. I needed to find Mark before the building was overrun. Before this became a chaotic melee instead of a controlled confrontation.

I reached the third floor and paused, listening. Observation processing every sound, every detail.

Footsteps. Coming from the left corridor. Multiple people. Moving with purpose.

I pressed against the wall, weapon ready.

Two security contractors appeared, clearly responding to reports of my infiltration. They saw me simultaneously with my seeing them.

Reflex Calibration made my response faster. I fired—two controlled shots that dropped the first contractor. The second managed to get his weapon up but Adaptive Countering had already adjusted my positioning. Third shot. Fourth shot. He went down.

I continued moving. Mark's room. His command center. His sanctum. Wherever he'd chosen to make his final stand.

I was coming for him.

And nothing—not his paranoia, not his philosophy, not his security—was going to stop me.

The fortress echoed with distant gunfire. My footsteps echoed with purpose.

Time to end this.

Time to find Mark.