Darkness swallowed them whole.
For three heartbeats, Kasper fell through industrial blackness, the exoskeleton's servos frozen in mid-motion. The neural disruptors had locked his mechanical support, but his mind remained brutally, painfully clear. Above, enhanced soldiers converged on their position. Below, only concrete and steel awaited.
Torres's voice cut through the darkness. "Diaz! Override frequency!"
A flash of blue light erupted from Diaz's enhancement ports—emergency protocols burning through safeguards. Blood streamed from his nose, metallic scent filling the air as he forced the technology beyond its limits. The smell of frying circuits followed, bitter and acrid.
The exoskeleton jolted back to life. Servos unlocked with a sickening crack.
Kasper twisted mid-air. Calculated. His empty ports burned with phantom fire as he oriented toward a maintenance platform barely visible twenty feet below. No enhancements. Just instinct.
"Brace!"
Impact. Metal tore beneath his weight. The exoskeleton's hydraulics screamed—a high-pitched whine that resonated through his bones. His teeth rattled with the force. Something in his shoulder tore. Fresh blood, warm and sticky, soaked through his shirt.
Moreno hit next. Rolled. Outdated reflex enhancements sparked blue-white against rusted metal. His side was a mess of blood and shredded tactical gear, but his street-fighter's grin flashed in the darkness.
"Told you, boss." He spat blood. "Just like Sector Seven."
Vega's massive frame descended last, catching Diaz before impact. The crack of metal beneath his weight echoed through the shaft. Three hundred pounds of enhanced muscle and military hardware landing with precision.
"Seven hostiles inbound." Vega set Diaz down with surprising gentleness. His pupils reflected tactical light like a predator's. "Torres?"
Torres landed in a crouch. His neural targeting systems pulsed faint blue light across haggard features. "Fifteen enhanced signatures converging." His fingers swept through invisible interfaces. "Military-grade. Communications compromised."
"Status?" Kasper's voice sounded wrong—scraped raw from his throat. Blood traced copper paths down his spine, each drop burning like acid against exposed nerve endings.
"Operational," Vega said. Hydraulic fluid leaked from his left shoulder.
"Functional," Torres reported. A jagged cut above his eye painted half his face crimson.
"Ready." Moreno pressed a hand against his bleeding side. The wound squelched wetly. "Just a scratch."
Diaz wiped blood from his face. His pupils contracted unevenly—sensory overload. "Partial function. Sensory grid at forty percent."
Above, enhanced soldiers moved through maintenance shafts with machine precision. Their enhancement signatures pulsed with military rhythm—the Director's elite forces closing on prey they believed trapped and wounded.
They weren't wrong.
The maintenance platform connected to a service tunnel barely wider than Vega's shoulders. Rusted pipes hung from crumbling concrete. The stench of industrial chemicals, human waste, and corroded metal created a toxic miasma. The platform itself had partially collapsed, leaving twenty yards of empty space between them and potential escape.
"Options?" Vega shifted to defensive position, covering damaged teammates with practiced efficiency.
"Can't go back up," Torres said. His neural targeting systems turned his eyes electric blue in the darkness. "Can't outrun enhanced soldiers with Diaz injured."
"Then we don't run." Kasper's words tasted like copper and certainty on his tongue. The KS-23 remained balanced against his shoulder, though its ammunition was depleted. "We hunt."
The team exchanged glances—professional assessment weighed against impossible odds. Four damaged men and their unenhanced leader, against fifteen military-grade operators with superior technology and position.
"Traditional assessment suggests withdrawal," Diaz said. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. "Superior force. Superior position. Superior technology."
"No extraction available," Torres added, neural targeting systems calculating failure probabilities. "Operational protocols suggest—"
"Fuck protocols," Moreno interrupted. His street dialect thickened with adrenaline. His eyes never left Kasper's face. "What's the plan, boss?"
The question hung in recycled air that tasted of industrial decay and pending violence. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. Metal groaned underfoot. The Director's forces approached from above, their enhancement signatures pulsing with predatory purpose.
Something shifted in Kasper's face—a hardening, a transformation. The blood covering half his features seemed to darken, mask-like. His eyes reflected no light.
"They expect us to run," he said. His voice had dropped an octave. "They expect fear."
"They have us outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded," Torres said. Even his neural algorithms couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. "Fear would be rational."
"Rationality is a luxury." Kasper moved toward a maintenance panel nearly hidden by decades of grime. The exoskeleton's servos whined with each step—metal bones protesting. He tore the panel free with a shriek of rusted hinges. Inside, ancient control systems lurked beneath layers of dust. "Diaz, can you interface?"
Diaz moved forward, fingers tracing controls with technical reverence. "Primitive industrial systems. Pre-Reformation maintenance grid." His enhancement ports pulsed with subdued satisfaction. "Hardened against modern intrusion protocols."
"Meaning?" Vega's voice rumbled like distant thunder. His eyes never stopped tracking the maintenance shaft above.
"The Director's people can't override remotely," Diaz explained. His fingers danced through calibration sequences, leaving bloody prints on archaic interfaces. "These systems were built to survive industrial accidents, military strikes, and natural disasters. Basic. Robust. Independent."
"Can you control them?" Kasper wiped blood from his eyes. The fluid had thickened to the consistency of syrup, dark as old engine oil.
Diaz's enhancement ports cycled confirmation patterns. "Partial control. Environmental systems. Maintenance operations. Emergency protocols."
"Perfect." The word wasn't just spoken—it was carved into the air with absolute finality. Torres's enhancement readings spiked involuntarily at Kasper's tone. "Torres, structural assessment. Vega, defensive position at junction A-7. Moreno, secondary systems access."
Enhancement ports pulsed acknowledgment. No questions. No hesitation.
"They're coming," Torres warned. His neural targeting systems highlighted approaching signatures in electric blue. "Thirty seconds."
"Let them come." Blood dripped from Kasper's chin onto the concrete floor. Each drop sizzled against the stone. The exoskeleton shifted, hydraulics screaming as he positioned himself in the maintenance tunnel's center.
His team moved into position with practiced efficiency. Vega disappeared into industrial shadows, enhancement-assisted strength coiled like a predator's. Torres found elevated position, neural targeting systems calculating firing solutions despite limited ammunition. Moreno accessed secondary controls, street-honed instincts translating technical specifications into practical application. Diaz's fingers danced across ancient interfaces, sensory enhancements routing around damaged pathways.
"Twenty seconds," Torres said. His voice was barely a whisper. "They're moving in coordinated patterns. Military protocols."
"Remember," Kasper said, his voice carrying quiet certainty beneath the exoskeleton's hydraulic hum. "They're enhanced for specific purposes. Specialized tools for specialized tasks."
"While we're what? Broken toys?" Moreno's fingers hesitated over controls.
"No." Kasper's eyes met each of theirs in turn. Something ancient lived in that gaze. Something that made even Vega's combat-hardened spine straighten. "We're adaptable. We've survived failure. They haven't."
The first enhanced soldier appeared at the maintenance shaft's edge. His tactical gear gleamed with polished precision. His enhancement ports pulsed with military-grade algorithms, calculating threats and responses with inhuman speed.
"Now." The word barely left Kasper's lips before hell broke loose.
Diaz's fingers executed final command sequence with surgical precision. Something deep in the facility's guts roared to life. Ancient machinery groaned, shook, awakened. Emergency protocols engaged—hardwired contingencies programmed by long-dead engineers.
The atmospheric systems hit first. Pressure differentials created sudden wind that howled through corroded vents, carrying decades of industrial filth. Dust and debris swirled through tactical light, blinding enhanced vision calibrated for optimal conditions.
The first soldiers hesitated—half a second's pause to recalibrate.
Fatal mistake.
Vega emerged from darkness like vengeance given form. His massive fist connected with the first soldier's enhancement port with wet, crunching finality. Bone fragments and neural gel sprayed across polished tactical gear. The soldier dropped without a sound, enhancement ports flickering once before darkening like dying stars.
The second soldier managed to raise his weapon. Too slow.
Torres's shot caught him directly between enhancement ports. The sound was sickening—wet splatter followed by electric crackle as neural interfaces shorted out. The body tumbled backward, knocking two more soldiers off balance.
Moreno engaged secondary systems with street-inspired creativity. Industrial cleaning protocols activated, sending caustic chemicals spraying from ceiling nozzles. The compounds were designed to remove decades of industrial buildup—they melted tactical visors on contact. Screams echoed through the maintenance shaft as enhanced soldiers clawed at their faces.
Kasper moved through artificial chaos like death itself. The exoskeleton compensated for human limitations, for enhancement rejection, for biological weakness. The KS-23, now empty of ammunition, became an extension of his will—blunt instrument shattering enhancement ports with mechanical precision.
"What the fuck is he?" One soldier's voice cracked with panic. His enhancement ports cycled emergency patterns as his teammate disappeared into industrial shadow. His enhanced vision painted targeting solutions across empty air, algorithms struggling to predict movement patterns that followed no technological logic.
"Redirect!" Another shouted. His tactical mask partially melted against his face. "Get back to—"
His words ended with a gurgle as Kasper drove the KS-23's stock through his throat. Arterial spray painted concrete walls in pulsing patterns.
Torres's voice cut through tactical channels, cold and precise: "You're not fighting a man. You're fighting the void."
Three soldiers died before they understood the trap they'd entered. Two more fell as they attempted tactical withdrawal, enhancement ports cycling frantically through emergency protocols. The remaining team deployed specialized countermeasures—EMP devices designed to disable technological opposition.
The pulse washed over ancient machinery without effect. Industrial systems built before the Reformation, hardened against electromagnetic interference, continued their inexorable operation.
Just as victory seemed certain, the environment itself betrayed them.
Decades-old support beams, weakened by the sudden pressure changes, gave way with an agonizing groan. The maintenance shaft's ceiling began collapsing in sections. Diaz's interface sparked wildly as ancient systems fought conflicting commands.
"System cascade!" he shouted, fingers flying across controls. "The environmental protocols are destabilizing the entire sector!"
A massive steel beam crashed down, missing Vega by inches. The floor beneath them shuddered—structural integrity compromised by their own tactics.
"Reroute!" Kasper ordered, the exoskeleton's servos whining as he dodged falling debris. "Diaz, containment protocols!"
The industrial chaos they'd unleashed had become a double-edged sword. Their carefully constructed trap was now collapsing around them, threatening to bury both hunters and hunted.
Moreno's hands moved with desperate speed across secondary controls. "Can't stop it, boss! Systems are locked in failsafe mode!"
The remaining enhanced soldiers, realizing their opportunity, regrouped with military precision. Their leader's voice carried through tactical channels: "Command, we need extraction! Target is... is something else. Non-standard. Request immediate—"
His transmission ended abruptly as Vega's enhancement-assisted strength shattered his cervical vertebrae. The massive hunter moved with lethal efficiency, each strike targeting vulnerabilities that enhancement algorithms considered statistically negligible.
"Torres, northeast junction," Kasper directed. Blood bubbled from his lips with each word, dark as crude oil. "Moreno, pressure systems. Diaz, sensor disruption."
The team adapted with grim determination. Where the environment fought against them, they incorporated its chaos into their strategy. Falling debris became improvised weapons. Collapsing sections herded remaining soldiers into kill zones.
Seven grueling minutes later, it was over.
Eleven of the Director's elite soldiers lay dead or dying among industrial machinery, their enhancement ports dark in tactical light. The remaining four had withdrawn to defensive positions, enhancement signatures pulsing with unfamiliar patterns.
Fear.
"They're regrouping," Torres reported. His voice had steadied now that mathematics favored their survival. "Requesting reinforcements. Reassessing tactical approach."
"Good." Kasper spat blood onto the concrete floor. The fluid hissed on contact, leaving scorch marks on industrial stone. "Let's move. We have seven minutes before Ordoñez realizes his elite team has failed."
"Objective?" Vega asked. His massive frame showed evidence of sustained combat—cracked armor, stressed enhancement connections, hydraulic fluid leaking from artificial joints.
"Ordoñez." The name was a death sentence. "We finish what we started."
"With respect," Torres interjected, "we're damaged, outnumbered, and operating without extraction protocols."
"Fuck guidelines," Moreno said. His enhancement ports pulsed with determination despite blood-soaked tactical gear. "We got this far, might as well finish the job."
"Probability of success significantly reduced," Diaz added. His sensory enhancements provided mathematical certainty in electric blue figures only he could see. "But not zero. The Director's forces are recalibrating response patterns. They expected enhanced opponents. Standard tactics." His eyes met Kasper's with newfound respect. "You're something they can't quantify."
"I'm nothing special," Kasper said. He wiped blood from his face, leaving dark streaks across pale skin. "Just a man with purpose."
"Bullshit," Vega rumbled. His enhancement ports cycled understanding beneath professional distance. "I've seen enhanced veterans break under less pressure than you've endured. You shouldn't even be conscious, let alone fighting."
Vega stopped himself, his massive frame suddenly tense. The words had come too naturally, too personal for a man who'd spent his career maintaining professional boundaries. He glanced away, adjustment uncomfortably visible in his posture.
"The void remembers," Torres murmured, neural targeting systems highlighting the impossible pattern of their leader's survival. He exchanged a look with Vega, something unspoken passing between them.
Something shifted in the recycled air between them—professional assessment becoming something deeper. Not friendship, not yet, but recognition. Acknowledgment of shared purpose beyond Association assignment.
"Seven minutes," Kasper repeated. The exoskeleton's servos whined as he moved toward the access shaft. "We hunt. We extract. We return."
This time, no one questioned.
Ordoñez had built his control center like a fortress within a fortress. Three layers of security separated his personal quarters from the general compound, each designed to eliminate threats before they reached his sanctum. Quantum-encrypted access panels. Military-grade automated defenses. Enhanced soldiers with specialized hardware.
Against conventional assault, it would have been impregnable.
But what entered his inner sanctum wasn't conventional by any definition.
Tactical alarms wailed. Emergency lighting cast everything in hellish red. Security systems cycled frantically through countermeasures designed for enhancement warfare. Automated defenses deployed specialized disruptors, EMP generators, neural overload protocols.
None of it mattered.
Torres came through first. His neural targeting systems calculated optimal solutions despite system damage. His enhancement ports pulsed with controlled determination as he eliminated automated defenses with surgical precision. Three shots. Three kills. Each bullet finding exactly the right circuit to disable million-dollar security systems.
Moreno followed. His bloodied hands disabled security panels with street-learned precision. Where technical knowledge failed, brute-force solutions prevailed. His outdated enhancement ports sparked erratically as he overrode safety protocols with improvised tools. Security doors slammed shut behind them, sealing off pursuit.
Diaz's fingers danced across interfaces, disrupting communications, disabling alarms, creating digital confusion. His sensory enhancements bypassed security protocols designed against brute-force attacks. Blood still trickled from his nose, but his eyes were clear now—professional focus overriding physical pain.
Vega entered like a battering ram. His enhancement-assisted strength tore through the final security door as if it were paper, the metal shrieking in protest. Two guards opened fire. Their rounds sparked harmlessly against his tactical gear. His response was efficient—precise strikes that disabled without killing when possible.
And Kasper—Kasper came last.
The exoskeleton barely functioned after sustained combat. Hydraulic fluid leaked from multiple joints. Servos whined with each step. Blood traced copper paths down his spine as enhancement rejection reached terminal levels. His skin had taken on a waxy paleness that bordered on translucent.
But his eyes—his eyes burned with terrible purpose.
Ordoñez stood behind his desk, enhancement ports cycling fear patterns beneath expensive business attire. His private security detail lay unconscious or dead around him, their specialized hardware useless against opponents who fought with desperate efficiency rather than technological superiority.
"Impossible," he whispered. His enhancement ports pulsed emergency protocols as he activated personal defense systems. "The Director said you'd be neutralized in the maintenance level. Said his elite squad would—"
"The elite squad is dead." Kasper's voice cut through the cartel lieutenant's words like a knife through flesh. "Your security is neutralized. Your compound is compromised."
"You can't be here," Ordoñez insisted. His enhancement ports cycled frantic patterns as reality contradicted certainty. "Our intelligence said you were unenhanced. Broken. The Director confirmed—"
"The Director." Kasper placed both hands on Ordoñez's desk, leaving bloody handprints on polished wood. "Where is he?"
Up close, something was wrong with Kasper's eyes. The pupils had contracted to pinpoints, surrounded by irises so dark they appeared black. Blood vessels had burst in the sclera, turning the whites crimson. The effect was demonic—a thing from nightmares looking through a human face.
Ordoñez's enhancement ports cycled frantically, fear overriding augmented composure. Even Vega found himself taking an instinctive step backward. This wasn't the controlled leader from their training sessions. This was something else—something awakened by violence and necessity.
"I don't know!" Ordoñez's voice cracked. "He contacts me through secure channels. Different locations each time." His eyes darted between Kasper and the team that had systematically dismantled his defenses. "My reinforcements will be here any minute. The entire compound is—"
"Torres." Just one word, spoken softly.
Torres's fingers moved through invisible interfaces, accessing security feeds. "No reinforcements detected. Your security channels were compromised four minutes ago. Your emergency protocols have been disabled. Your escape routes are monitored."
Ordoñez's face went slack with shock. The enhancement ports at his temples flickered as reality shattered his last illusions of control.
Kasper's hand shot out with mechanical precision. The exoskeleton compensating for human limitations as he grabbed Ordoñez by his expensive collar. The cartel lieutenant's feet dangled inches above the floor.
"The laboratory where they process the enhancement components," Kasper said. His voice had dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than a shout. "Where is it?"
Ordoñez's enhancement ports cycled panic patterns. "Puerto Dorado! The old colonial district, beneath the cathedral. That's where the Director's main facility is located." His voice cracked with desperate honesty. "I've only been there once. The processing. The children. It's not what I signed up for."
"Yet you kept signing the checks," Kasper observed. Blood dripped onto Ordoñez's immaculate suit, each drop burning through expensive fabric. The exoskeleton's servos whined as he tightened his grip. "Give me one reason not to end you right now."
"I have more!" Panic heightened Ordoñez's voice to a near-squeal. "Names, shipping routes, accounts—everything they don't tell the other lieutenants. I'm the only one who handles the specialty imports for Puerto Dorado. The children... I know where they find them."
Vega stepped forward, enhancement ports cycling combat readiness. His eyes never met Kasper's directly—instead, they fixed on a point just past his shoulder. "Sir. Association protocols recommend detainment for intelligence extraction."
Something shifted in Kasper's face—a momentary flicker of the calculating officer beneath the blood-soaked avenger.
"Moreno," he said, never taking his eyes off Ordoñez. "Restraint protocols."
"Got it, boss." Moreno pulled specialized restraints from his tactical gear. The cuffs were designed for enhanced individuals—quantum-locked neural suppressors that prevented port activation. He locked them around Ordoñez's wrists with practiced efficiency. "He's secure."
"Any remaining security in the compound?" Kasper asked, finally releasing Ordoñez. The cartel lieutenant crumpled to his knees, gasping.
"Minimal," Torres reported, neural targeting systems scanning through security feeds. "Mostly staff. The remaining guards have either fled or surrendered to compound security protocols."
"Diaz?"
The intelligence specialist's fingers danced across interfaces, sensory enhancements mapping digital architecture. "I've locked down all communications. No outgoing signals. No self-destruct protocols detected."
"The compound is secure," Vega confirmed, massive frame shifting to guard position. "Association extraction teams can recover both the prisoner and any additional intelligence."
Ordoñez looked up from the floor, realization dawning across his face. "You're not going to kill me."
"Not yet." Kasper's eyes remained fixed on the cartel lieutenant, pupils still contracted to inhuman pinpoints. "First, you're going to tell the Association everything you know about the Director. Every name. Every location. Every operation."
"And then?" Ordoñez asked.
"Then you face justice for the children." The words fell like stones into still water. "The legal kind, if you're helpful enough. The other kind if you're not."
Across the room, even Vega felt his spine straighten at the quiet promise in those words. This wasn't just a hunter completing a mission. This was something else—something that viewed justice as a sacred obligation rather than an abstract concept.
"Torres, signal extraction. Vega, secure the prisoner. Diaz, continue data recovery. Moreno, perimeter check." Kasper's orders came with practiced precision despite the blood still dripping from multiple wounds. The exoskeleton shifted with an agonizing metallic shriek as he moved toward the compound's main security center. "Let's see what else Ordoñez has been hiding."
Thirty minutes later, Association extraction teams arrived to find the compound fully secured. Ordoñez's remaining security had surrendered without further resistance after witnessing what had happened to their elite forces. Word had spread through tactical channels—the team without mercy, led by the unenhanced commander who moved like death itself.
As Kasper watched Association medical teams loading Ordoñez into a secured transport, Torres approached. His neural targeting systems had finally stopped cycling emergency patterns, professional control reasserted over combat necessity.
"Sir," he said, voice pitched for privacy. "The communication channels. The cartel networks. They're all talking about what happened here."
"And?" Kasper asked.
Torres hesitated. His enhancement ports cycled unusual patterns, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. The words seemed to catch in his throat.
"They're calling you something." He finally managed, the professional mask slipping to reveal something close to awe. "The void remembers. That's what they're saying. Like you're not just a man. Like you're... punishment itself."
Kasper said nothing, the exoskeleton shifting as he turned toward the Association transport that would return them to headquarters. Blood painted his vision crimson, but purpose kept him moving beyond physical limitation. One more step toward the Director. One more piece of the puzzle that had begun with Ghost's team, with Circuit's processing, with Ramirez's execution.
One more step toward Puerto Dorado.
Behind them, Ordoñez's compound stood silent—its surviving occupants whispering tales of what happened when the void remembered your sins.
"Unprecedented success," Santos declared, enhancement ports cycling assessment patterns as he reviewed mission telemetry. His northern accent thickened with poorly concealed excitement. "Complete neutralization of Ordoñez's operation. High-value prisoner secured. Minimal collateral damage."
Chen's enhancement ports pulsed skepticism beneath professional satisfaction. "And catastrophic damage to all team members," she added, fingers moving through medical interfaces with practiced precision. "Especially our project lead."
Kasper lay on the medical bay's primary diagnostic platform, the exoskeleton finally removed after sustained operation beyond design parameters. Neural rejection protocols had reached critical levels, requiring specialized intervention to prevent permanent damage. Beside him, his team underwent their own repairs—enhancement ports removed and refitted, damaged systems replaced, biological tissue regenerated.
"The President is impressed," Santos continued, manipulating classified data with military efficiency. "Wants to expand the program immediately."
"The model nearly killed them," Chen observed, enhancement ports highlighting medical certainty. "Diaz suffered sensory overload that would have left most operators brain-dead. Torres pushed neural targeting systems thirty percent beyond safe operational parameters. Vega's enhancement-assisted strength degraded structural integrity in both artificial shoulders. Moreno's outdated reflex enhancements literally melted connection tissue."
"Yet they succeeded," Santos countered. "The intelligence from Ordoñez is already proving invaluable."
Chen's fingers stilled above diagnostic interfaces. "At what cost? Look at him, Miguel." Her gesture encompassed Kasper's unconscious form. "This isn't sustainable. We're burning him from the inside out."
"He's operational," Santos insisted, repeating Kasper's own assessment with unconscious irony. "The mission succeeded."
"This time," Chen acknowledged. "But each operation increases neural degradation. Each enhancement rejection accelerates system collapse. There's only so much a human body can endure, even one as stubborn as his."
Through diagnostic sedation, Kasper heard their conversation like distant waves against Costa del Sol's harbor walls. Their words washed over him without meaning, their concern irrelevant against absolute purpose. Beneath artificial sleep, his mind continued mapping possibilities—connections between Ordoñez's intelligence and existing knowledge, patterns leading toward Puerto Dorado, steps bringing him closer to the Director.
Closer to the man who had ordered Ghost's dismemberment. Closer to the monster who had sanctioned Circuit's processing. Closer to the devil who had commanded Ramirez's execution.
In artificial darkness, Kasper's consciousness reformed around singular purpose. Not vengeance, though that burned cold beneath everything. Not justice, though that provided necessary structure. Something deeper, more fundamental.
Balance.
The void remembered. And it would be satisfied only when accounts were settled in blood and truth.
In the presidential palace, Rivera studied mission reports with carefully neutral expression. The tactical display painted Kasper's team's operation in merciless detail—the systematic elimination of the Director's elite squad, the capture of Ordoñez, the devastating efficiency of an unenhanced leader with a team of rejects.
"Effective," he acknowledged, fingers tapping ancient rhythm against polished desk. "But concerning."
Santos's enhancement ports cycled perfect agreement. "Enhancement rejection at those levels should have incapacitated him. He shouldn't have remained functional, let alone combat-effective."
"Yet he did," Rivera observed. "And his team followed where conventional forces would have withdrawn."
"'The void remembers,'" Santos quoted. "That's what they're calling him now. What Ordoñez's men are whispering."
Rivera's mouth tightened. "Legends can be useful. But dangerous." His fingers found the rosary in his pocket—the same one his grandfather had clutched during the revolution. "Especially legends built on necessary violence."
"Puerto Dorado provides concrete targeting data for subsequent operations," Santos noted. "If confirmed."
"And if it's deliberate misinformation?" Rivera countered. "If the Director is using Ordoñez to establish false trails?"
"Then we've still captured a high-value target and disrupted the Director's supply chain," Santos replied. "Either outcome represents tactical success."
Rivera turned toward the window, watching Costa del Sol's skyline as evening descended. Art deco spires caught dying sunlight like brass fingers reaching toward heaven, while below, shadows gathered in streets that had seen too much blood.
"Authorize medical clearance once Chen confirms stability," he decided, the rosary's wooden beads smooth against his fingers. "Prepare expanded operational parameters based on Ordoñez's intelligence."
"And the team?" Vega inquired.
"They stay together," Rivera said, thinking of footage that showed damaged men following an unenhanced leader against impossible odds. "Some combinations shouldn't be separated, even when conventional assessment suggests otherwise."
Outside his window, Costa del Sol prepared for night—vendors packing away wares, children rushing home before darkness claimed the streets, honest citizens seeking safety behind locked doors.
But in shadows between streetlights, in alleys where official presence rarely ventured, whispers spread with electronic speed. Tales of cartel soldiers found with enhancement ports surgically removed. Stories of Ordoñez's compound captured by ghosts rather than men. Rumors of something hunting through Costa del Sol's industrial districts—something that remembered sins committed in darkness.
The void remembers.
And Costa del Sol's long night was just beginning.