The Warehouse Investigation

(Samuel's POV)

I pulled up near the abandoned warehouse, killing the Maserati's engine. The place was isolated, hidden away in the industrial district where no one would bother looking.

The faint hum of distant traffic was the only sound in the air.

I stepped out, shutting the car door silently before scanning the area. The place was old, rusted, and falling apart—but not empty.

I could sense it.

Someone had been here recently.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders before moving forward.

I kept my steps light, careful, using the shadows to my advantage.

The main warehouse doors were locked from the inside, but that didn't matter. I wasn't planning on using the front entrance anyway.

Instead, I circled around to the back, where a metal side door stood slightly ajar.

"Sloppy."

Whoever was here last either left in a hurry—or they wanted someone to walk right in.

I smirked. "Let's see what you're hiding."

I pushed the door open and slipped inside, silent as a ghost.

The air inside was stale, filled with the scent of dust, oil, and something else—something metallic.

Blood.

I moved forward, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. The place was filled with crates, old machinery, and—

I stopped.

A chair.

At the center of the warehouse, a single chair sat under a flickering overhead light. Ropes were still tied around it.

Someone had been held here.

I stepped closer, inspecting the ground. Dried blood stains. Signs of struggle.

I crouched down, touching the bloodstains. Not fresh. At least a day old.

My eyes flickered toward the corner of the warehouse—where a burned pile of documents lay scattered.

I moved toward it, picking up a half-burned paper.

[LOG ENTRY – PROJECT ORPHEUS]

…Subject still resisting cooperation. Increased pressure applied…

…If further noncompliance, eliminate…

I narrowed my eyes. "What the hell was Gregory involved in?"

Before I could read more, a faint noise echoed from the darkness.

A footstep.

I smirked. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

The warehouse air felt heavier now, charged with the kind of tension that came before a fight.

I stood still, listening.

Another footstep. Then another.

Not just one person. Multiple.

I exhaled, my smirk widening. "So, are you gonna come out, or do I have to drag you out?"

Silence.

Then—

A whistling sound cut through the air.

Incoming attack.

I shifted my weight, dodging to the side as a knife embedded itself into the metal crate behind me with a sharp thunk.

"Tch." Sloppy. They should've gone for a silent kill.

I moved instantly, my body reacting faster than they could process.

Step One – Taking Out the First Guy

The first attacker lunged from the shadows, aiming another knife at my throat.

Too slow.

I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply—snap—before yanking him forward and driving my knee into his gut.

He wheezed, collapsing instantly.

One down.

Step Two – Reading the Enemy

Two more figures emerged from the darkness, dressed in black, their movements controlled, precise.

"Mercenaries," I muttered. "Professionals. But not good enough."

One of them charged forward, swinging a metal baton. I let him close the distance, ducking under the swing before slamming an elbow into his ribs.

He grunted but recovered quickly—better trained than the first.

I smirked. "Not bad."

But still not good enough.

I caught his wrist, twisting the baton from his grip before flipping it in my hand—then cracked it across his skull.

Two down.

The third guy hesitated. That was all the opening I needed.

I lunged before he could react, gripping his throat and slamming him against the nearest crate.

"Who sent you?" I asked, pressing harder.

He struggled, gasping. "Y-you already know."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're with the syndicate, aren't you?"

No response. But the flicker of fear in his eyes told me enough.

I let go, knocking him out cold with a single strike to the temple.

Step Three – The Message Left Behind

With the three mercenaries unconscious, I surveyed the warehouse again.

They weren't here to guard the place.

They were here to erase any evidence I could find.

But they were too late.

I looked back at the burned documents, my fingers tightening around the half-burned log entry.

Project Orpheus.

Gregory wasn't just a missing person.

He was part of something bigger.

Something dangerous.

I took one last glance at the knocked-out mercenaries, then at the shadows beyond the warehouse door.

If they sent a clean-up crew tonight…

That meant they knew I was coming.

And that also meant—

They would come for me next.

I smirked, stepping over one of the unconscious bodies.

"Let them try."