CHAPTER 56: CHAPTER 56

The walk to The Grind House was the longest fifteen minutes of Ace’s life. The afternoon sun felt exposing, not warm, highlighting him for any watching eyes. Every single person he passed on the street seemed like a potential threat. Every time a car slowed down near him, his muscles tightened up, preparing for a sudden attack. His mind was a storm of terrifying thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about the chilling, digital message from Silica that read, Aegis will fall. He was tormented by the blurry dot on the city map that was their only clue, and he couldn’t erase the memory of the terrified, resigned look on Evelyn’s face as he left her behind. He was walking away from one battlefield, a digital ghost haunting their every move, and marching straight into another, far more physically dangerous one.

He came to a stop across the street from the café and could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. From the outside, The Grind House looked deceptively peaceful and completely normal. A young couple sat at a small table outside, laughing over some shared pastries. A man in a suit was checking his phone while he waited for his order, tapping his foot impatiently. It was a perfect scene of everyday life, but to Ace, it felt like a painted backdrop hiding a pit of snakes. This place was Evelyn’s world, her safe sanctuary of coffee aromas and soft music, and he was about to drag the filth and danger of his new life right into the middle of it.

He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm his racing nerves. He finally crossed the street and pushed the door open. The familiar bell above the door jingled. It was a sound he usually connected to the comforting smell of roasting coffee beans and the quiet hum of Evelyn’s workspace. Now, that same cheerful sound felt like a harsh alarm bell signaling the start of a fight.

The warm, rich aroma of coffee, which usually wrapped around him like a comfort, now felt stifling and heavy. His eyes instantly darted around the room, his new, hard-won instincts on high alert. And then his gaze landed directly on the threat, and he felt his blood run cold with fear.

Marcus was sitting at a corner table, and he looked like a shadow that had taken a solid, human form. He was a mountain of solid muscle and quiet violence, and he was crammed into a quaint, delicate wooden chair. He was holding a small espresso cup between his thick, calloused fingers. He didn’t even look up as Ace approached him. His attention seemed completely consumed by the dark liquid in the tiny cup.

Behind the counter, Evelyn’s boss, Leon, was polishing the same spot on the gleaming espresso machine over and over again with a frantic, nervous energy. His face was pale and shone with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes kept darting toward Marcus’s corner the way a small bird nervously watches a cat, and then he would look away again just as quickly. When Leo saw Ace walk in, he shot him a look that was a toxic mix of fear, sympathy, and a clear, silent plea that said, Whatever this is, please get it out of my shop.

Ace’s mouth felt as dry and full of dust. He stopped right by the table, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets to hide their slight tremor. A thick and heavy silence stretched out between them. The only sounds were the gentle hiss of the steam wand and the quiet chatter from the couple outside.

Finally, Marcus took a slow, deliberate sip of his espresso. He placed the cup down on its saucer with a soft, precise click that seemed to echo in the tense space of the quiet café.

"You’re late," Marcus said. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate right through the table. He still didn’t bother to look up at Ace.

"I came as fast as I could," Ace replied, forcing his voice to stay flat and neutral.

"Mm." Marcus finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were the color of flint, flat and devoid of any emotion beyond a cold, professional assessment. He scanned Ace from head to toe, seeming to tally every weakness, every doubt. "Sit."

Ace pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. The vinyl seat creaked under his weight, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet café.

"The boss is... amused," Marcus began, tracing the rim of his tiny cup with a blunt finger. "The scene at the Sapphire Lounge was messy. It was unsubtle. It was like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut." He paused, letting the criticism hang in the air, making sure Ace felt the weight of his disapproval. "But it got the job done. Now, Vincenzo is pissed. He’s turning over every rock in this city, looking for a clumsy waiter with a lucky streak and a death wish."

Ace felt his blood run cold with dread. This was the moment he had been afraid of. It seemed Ramos was cutting him loose, abandoning him. He was going to be offered up as a peace offering to the rival gangster, Vincenzo, like a sacrificial lamb meant to soothe a rival’s wounded pride. His hand clenched tightly around the phone in his pocket, a useless and helpless gesture. He thought of Evelyn and Silva, locked safe in the workshop and waiting for him to return. He realized with horror that he had led this terrible danger right to their doorstep.

But Marcus continued speaking, his voice dropping even lower into a menacing whisper. The tone forced Ace to lean in slightly just to hear him. "Ramos doesn’t like loose ends," Marcus said. "And you, kid, are a very loose end. But you are also a useful one. For now." He leaned forward slightly. The motion was small, but it made every one of Ace’s instincts scream at him to back away. "So, he is containing the situation," Marcus explained. "Vincenzo’s men will not find you. That is the protection you bought for yourself with that little performance at the lounge."

The feeling of relief was so immediate and so powerful that it felt dizzying. It was like a sudden, oxygen-rich rush to his starved brain. But that feeling was poisoned the very second it hit him. Protection from a man like Ramos never came for free. It was always a loan, and it always came with an impossible, bloody interest to pay later.

"What’s the price?" Ace asked. The words tasted like bitter ash on his tongue. He already knew, deep down, that he would not like the answer.

A thin, humorless smile touched Marcus’s lips, a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. "Smart boy. You know how the world works. The price is a show of force. And it is a test of your loyalty." He then slid a single, folded piece of cheap notebook paper across the smooth tabletop. "A truck," he stated. "It belongs to a logistics company that Vincenzo uses as a front for his illegal business. It is carrying a shipment of high-end electronics—things like gaming consoles and top-shelf computer parts—headed for one of his warehouses. The truck makes a scheduled stop for a driver change at this location at 4:45 AM tomorrow." Marcus paused, letting the instructions sink in. "It does not need to reach its destination."

Ace stared at the paper. It was just an address and a time, but it felt heavier than the lockbox full of cash and secrets. It was just an address and a time written on it, but it felt heavier in that moment than the lockbox full of cash and secrets he had stolen. It was not just information; it was an instruction for sabotage. It was a direct order to declare war on a powerful gangster. This was a line, and once he crossed it, he knew he could never come back.

SYSTEM ALERT: NEW TASK INITIATED

TASK: INTERCEPT TECH SHIPMENT. PREVENT DELIVERY TO VINCENZO.

METHOD: SABOTAGE / THEFT / DESTRUCTION – EFFICIENCY WILL BE RATED.

REWARD: (WITHHELD – BASED ON COMPLETION & STRATEGY)

PENALTY: PROTECTION WITHDRAWN. IDENTIFYING INFORMATION WILL BE EXPOSED TO TARGET (VINCENZO).

Ace felt the System’s message burning in his mind, a cold and digital echo of the very real threat that had just been sitting across from him. The System was withholding its reward, dangling a carrot on a stick like his own personal, internal manipulator. But the penalty for failure was not just a simple headache or a lost memory. It was a death sentence, neatly typed out inside his head. He realized that Ramos’s so-called "protection" was the only fragile shield he had between himself and Vincenzo’s revenge. This task he had been given was not a simple request. It was an ultimatum, carefully wrapped up to look like a favor. The choice was simple: do this, or be thrown to the wolves.

"He wants me to steal from Vincenzo?" Ace asked, trying to wrap his mind around the huge and audacious scale of this provocation. It was a move that could easily start an all-out war.

"He wants you to send a message," Marcus corrected him, his voice now little more than a threatening whisper. "Vincenzo thinks he can move his product in this city. Ramos is reminding him that he can’t. That every road belongs to him. And he is using you to do it." Marcus leaned back, his chair groaning in protest under his immense weight. "Consider it a promotion. You are his attack dog now. You should be grateful you are not being put down instead."

He drank the last of his espresso and stood up in one smooth, powerful motion. His large frame seemed to suck all the air and light out of the small café. He looked down at Ace, his expression utterly cold and impersonal.

"Don’t screw it up," he said, his tone final and leaving no room for questions or negotiation. "And don’t be late again."

Without another word, Marcus turned and walked out of the café. The bell jingled once, cheerfully and obliviously, as the door swung shut behind him, leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake.

The warmth of the coffee shop did nothing to melt the ice that had formed in Ace’s veins. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, now slightly crumpled from his tight grip. It was just an address, but it felt like a heavy chain, and he felt like Ramos had just clicked the lock firmly around his neck.

He was no longer just a person trying to survive the System or outrun his past. He was now actively working for the monster, earning his right to breathe another day by doing its dirty work. He looked around the café—at Leon, who quickly looked away and busied himself with a rag, at the cheerful local art on the walls, at the empty stool where Evelyn usually sat. This was her sanctuary, her normal life, and Marcus’s presence had violated it. It was a stark reminder that nowhere was safe anymore. Ramos’s message was clear: I know where your friends live. I know where they work. I can touch them anytime I want. Now, go and play your part.

Ace slowly stood up, his legs feeling weak and unsteady beneath him. He shoved the crumpled note into his pocket; it felt like he was carrying a live coal. He knew the walk back to Unit B17 would feel even longer than the walk to the cafe, and each step would be heavier with the burden of the task that lay ahead. How could he possibly tell them? How could he explain to Evelyn and Silva that in order to keep them safe, he had to willingly step even deeper into the darkness? He had to become Ramos’s weapon.

He had just faced down a ghost in the machine, a digital threat, and now he was returning to his friends as a newly enlisted soldier in the enemy’s army. The battle was now underway on all fronts, and the lines between right and wrong, and between survival and damnation, were blurring in the worst way possible.