CHAPTER 34: CHAPTER 34

Ace climbed down the old, rusty ladder of the water tower as quickly as he could. Bits of rust fell like dirty snow, and the ladder creaked loudly, making him nervous. Below him, Finley’s scrapyard was turning into a battlefield. Ramos’s men, led by a tough-looking guy named Marcus, were shouting at the closed gate. Finley’s guards shouted back, gripping their guns tightly. Bright lights flashed on inside the yard, scanning piles of junk as Finley’s men and angry dogs searched for Deke. The air crackled with tension, like a fight could break out any second.

Ace hit the ground running, his boots crunching on the dry, weedy earth. He sprinted towards Silva’s pickup truck, hidden behind the collapsed shed. Silva saw him coming and frantically started the engine, the old motor coughing to life.

"Get in! Get in!" Silva yelled, leaning over to shove the passenger door open as Ace dove inside. Silva slammed the truck into reverse before Ace even got the door fully closed. The tires kicked up dirt as they jerked backward. Then, with a sharp turn of the wheel, Silva whipped the truck around and stomped on the gas, speeding away.

"What happened?! Did you see anything?!" Silva asked, his voice shaky with fear. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror as they drove quickly away from the scrapyard.

"I saw everything," Ace said, trying to catch his breath. "Ramos’s men showed up just as Deke was begging Finley for help. But Finley betrayed him, he refused to help and locked the gates. Deke freaked out and ran deeper into the scrapyard, hiding somewhere in all that metal junk. He still has the lockbox. Now, Finley’s guards and Ramos’s men are searching everywhere for him. It’s a warzone back there!"

Silva clenched the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "Then it’s over for Deke. Ramos’s men will find him and they won’t go easy on him." His voice was tense but also a little relieved.

"It might be over for Deke," Ace said grimly, "but we still need that lockbox. Or at least, we need to know what was inside it." He quickly explained what he’d overheard through his enhanced hearing. "Deke told Finley the lockbox contains blackmail material, proof of corruption involving city leaders, cops, judges, and businesspeople. Names, dates, everything. That’s his ’insurance,’ his way out. He was trying to sell it to Finley to pay for his escape."

"Exactly," Ace replied. "If Ramos gets his hands on that box, he’ll become even stronger. If someone else does, it could cause huge problems. But if we learn what’s inside, we might still have an advantage." He felt a surge of frustration. They were so close to the key, but it was locked inside that heavily guarded prison with a man who wouldn’t live much longer.

They drove in tense silence for a few minutes, putting distance between themselves and the brewing storm at They drove in tense silence for a minute, putting distance between themselves and the brewing storm. Silva took a sharp turn down a narrow, overgrown service road skirting the scrapyard’s eastern perimeter fence. Suddenly, Silva slammed on the brakes.

"Whoa! What the fuck?" Silva exclaimed, staring ahead.

Ace followed his gaze. Tossed onto the dirt track about twenty yards ahead, just outside the scrapyard’s high chain-link fence topped with razor wire, was a small, heavy-looking metal box. It had landed near a pile of discarded tires, partially hidden by tall weeds.

"The lockbox!" Ace gasped. He jumped out of the truck before it fully stopped, with Silva right behind him. They ran to the box. Ace picked it up. It was solid metal, cold and smooth except for fresh scratches and dents like someone had thrown it hard. He glanced up at the huge piles of scrap metal just inside the fence. One stack of crushed cars stood dangerously close.

"He must have been cornered near this part of the fence," Ace said, scanning the chaotic jumble inside. "In his panic, knowing Ramos and Finley’s men were closing in... he threw it over the fence. Hoping maybe to come back for it later if he escaped... or just to keep it out of their hands." Ace lifted the box. It was heavy whatever was inside, it held something big and dangerous.

Silva looked around wildly, as if expecting Deke or Ramos’s men to appear. "We can’t keep this! It’s a bomb, Ace! Throw it in the river! Now!"

"No," Ace said firmly, holding the box tighter. "This is what we needed. This is the key." He looked at Silva. "Deke is finished. Ramos has him, or will soon. But this... this is our leverage. This is proof of his crimes, and maybe crimes of others far bigger. This is how we make sure he stays neutralized, permanently. And it might protect us."

Silva was still scared, but he was starting to see things clearly. This makes sense... I guess.

"Okay... okay," he said, his voice shaky. "But not here. We need to find a safe place. Now."

Ace nodded. They grabbed the box, jumped back into the truck, and Silva sped off. He drove straight back to the Nite Owl Motel, parking his truck behind the motel, out of sight from the main road. Ace carried the lockbox carefully into Unit 7, Silva following close behind, glancing over his shoulder like he expected gunfire any second.

Once inside, Ace locked the door and set the box on the wobbly table. Both men stared at it tensely.

Silva swallowed hard. "How do we open it?" he whispered. "We don’t have a key."

Ace examined the box. It was very well made and solid. "We might not need the key." He focused, activating his Neural-Interface skill. He gently touched the cold metal near the keyhole, sending out a mental "feeler".

But there was nothing electronic to find. The lock was completely mechanical, just old-fashioned metal pieces inside. His high-tech skill couldn’t affect it. Ace felt a surge of annoyance.

"Old school," Ace muttered. "Just metal tumblers. Need tools... or..." He paused. "...just smash it." He quickly scanned the almost empty room. He needed something heavy and solid.

His eyes stopped on the room’s only lamp. It was old and beaten up, but it had a very heavy metal base. Ace unplugged the lamp and wrestled the heavy base off the stand. It was solid and dense, it was perfect for this job.

"Stand back," Ace warned Silva. He lifted the lamp base high above his head, aimed it right at the lock on the box, and swung it down as hard as he could.

BANG! The noise was incredibly loud in the small room. The box even jumped a little on the table.

Ace looked closely at the lock. It was bent in, but still holding.

He lifted the heavy lamp base again.

BANG! Another hard hit. The metal made a terrible scraping sound.

BANG! On the third hit, the lock finally broke apart. Small pieces of metal flew everywhere. The metal hook holding the lid shut was now twisted and broken.

Ace dropped the lamp. He was breathing hard. He carefully opened the lockbox’s lid, which was now broken. Inside the box, among torn-up packing foam, were piles of papers and a few small electronic gadgets. The foam was probably ripped during Deke’s panic or the box’s rough landing.

Ace carefully lifted out the top items from the lid. The most obvious items were several thick, well-organized folders made of sturdy manila paper. Each folder had a name handwritten in bold letters on its tab: "Councilman R. Graves," "Deputy Mayor J. Kincaid," "Detective M. Borland," "Judge L. Hemlock." Peeking inside one folder, Ace saw photocopies of official-looking bank statements showing deposits of large, unexplained sums of money. There were also typed pages detailing meetings and suspicious payments, along with a few grainy, black-and-white photographs that seemed to show secret handoffs of envelopes. Beside the folders sat a small, older model digital voice recorder, similar to the one Ace had used to trap Deke. Next to it lay a basic, prepaid "burner" phone, currently switched off, and a small, unmarked black USB flash drive. Underneath these, Ace found neat bundles of cash held together with rubber bands. It was stacks of twenty and fifty-dollar bills totaling around $5,000. Finally, tucked beneath everything else, was a small, worn notebook bound in cheap brown leather. Flipping it open, Ace saw page after page filled with cramped, messy handwriting in which there were lists of dates, people’s initials, dollar amounts, and short, cryptic notes that looked like a personal record of deals and threats. This was Deke Vance’s hidden arsenal: proof of corruption that could destroy powerful people, tools he used to collect it, money he’d stashed, and his private ledger of crimes.

Ace picked up the voice recorder and pressed play. A clear voice filled the room – it was Deke, but sounding calm and in charge:

"...Councilman, your vote on the waterfront project is very important. My friends would be very thankful. How about an extra twenty thousand dollars? We can give it to you secretly. Think of it as payment for your time..."

Ace stopped the recording. Silva’s face went pale as he whispered "He wasn’t lying. It’s all here. Names. Proof. Enough to destroy careers... or get people killed. This is... this is terrifying power."

Ace felt a cold certainty settle over him. This wasn’t just proof against Deke. This was a weapon. A dangerous one. Holding it made them targets. But it also gave them immense leverage. The System task pulsed: Neutralize Deke Permanently. With Deke captured by Ramos, his fate was sealed. But this box... It would expose all his crimes, destroy his reputation, and erase his influence for good. It was permanent neutralization, in a way.

Suddenly, a sharp, icy pain stabbed behind Ace’s eyes. The System screen flashed with a message:

SYSTEM ANALYSIS: PRIMARY TARGET (DEKE VANCE) STATUS UPDATE

CURRENT STATUS: APPREHENDED BY HOSTILE FORCES (VICTOR RAMOS). NEUTRALIZATION IMMINENT VIA THIRD PARTY.

EVALUATING TASK COMPLETION: NEUTRALIZE DEKE PERMANENTLY...

The blue text pulsed. Ace held his breath, staring at the evidence spread across his table. The lockbox was open. The secrets were out. Deke was as good as dead. Had he done it? Had he found the key to fulfilling the System’s brutal demand? The seconds stretched, filled only by Silva’s shaky breathing. The System’s judgment was coming.