Someone's always watching

After an hour of sleep, Jack's breathing slowed, muscles relaxing. Then—darkness twisted around him, coiling, and pulsing.

His features stretched, shifting as Boris emerged.

The Russian exhaled sharply, cracking his neck as his presence settled into the body. His trench coat formed around him like a second skin followed by his fedora.

He swung his legs over the bed, planting his feet firmly on the marble tiles. His mind was clear, with one singular purpose.

Time to pay the Lorns a visit.

He stood, adjusting the helm of his coat. Then stepped toward the window, gazing into the night.

"Hold it."

Boris stopped, his sharp brown eyes narrowing.

From the reflection of the glass window, another figure appeared—leaner, sharper. Dressed in a black hoodie, glasses perched neatly on his nose.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

Boris exhaled through his nose. "What now?"

"You're rushing again." Black's voice was calm but firm. "We have the upper hand. Why waste it by barging in without leverage?"

Boris scoffed. "Fear is leverage."

"Maybe for you," Black sighed adjusting his glasses, "but I prefer control. We dig deeper first. If we move too soon, we risk tipping the scale."

"They already tipped the scale by coming after the boy." Boris shot back.

Black's reflection in the glass just gazed at him impassively.

Boris huffed, crossing his arms. "Fine. But if they make another move—"

"Then you can do what you do best," Black smiled.

Boris exhaled sharply—then, reluctantly, his presence faded back retreating. Jack's body slumped for a second before straightening, a smirk forming as Black took over. His eyes, snapping opened. Exhaling slowly, he cracked his knuckles.

He walked to the living room, picked up the laptop and walked back into the bedroom.

He set the laptop on the desk in the room, as he sat down he turned to the bed, smirking. 'A little Easter egg for when he wakes up.'"

He cracked his neck, turning to the laptop. "Now… let's see who you really are, Arielle."

The laptop screen flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the darkened room.

Black's fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. First, he accessed the penthouse security feed, pulling up all footage recorded during the day. He scanned through the frames, isolating Arielle's face from multiple angles.

With a few precise keystrokes, he built a simple but effective facial recognition algorithm—something that would crawl through publicly available databases, cross-referencing images.

"The moment of truth." He muttered before running the program.

Soon the results began pouring in.

Social Media Profiles, A goverment grant and Campus News Mentions.

Black leaned back slightly, adjusting his glasses. Good enough, but not convincing.

With another command, he pulled up a terminal, the sound of the keyboard echoing in the room, smirking at his reflection in the screen he tapped lightly on the left side of his glasses. "Now for the real deal. Gant, you there?"

A voice replied to his question, [For you sir, always.]

"Excellent, connect to the laptop then start up the termite program." Black said his voice casual and controlled.

[As you wish sir. Target?]

"The Americas Population Database." Black replied leaning back on the seat, picking up the coffee mug, and taking a sip.

[Will do sir.]

Placing the mug on the desk, "Oh and project it on the—" before he could finish his sentence, the AI cut him off as command terminals began populating the screen of the computer.

[Way ahead of you sir .]

Black chuckled lightly leaning back on the chair.

Lines of code flooded the screen, some processes terminating mid-run as the cyber battle raged. Minutes later, a download icon flashed at the bottom.

Black leaned forward, starting intently at the screen. "Bingo. Sort the data for relevant info—let's see what we've got."

A new window blinked to life, displaying the data.

Arielle Kessler Info

> Name: Arielle Kessler

> DOB: June 9th, 4072

> University: Central University of The Americas

> Major: Business (2nd Year)

> Genetic Status: Awakened (Enhanced Neurological Function)

> Family: Gabriel & Maureen Kessler (Parents), Jacob Kessler (Younger Brother)

.....

Black's eyes scanned the details. No criminal records, known affiliations with any corporations or syndicates.

Just a university student from a lower middle-class family.

Black exhaled. "Huh. That's... surprising." He smirked. "At least Boris won't be breaking up the kid's love life anytime soon."

Closing the file, he cracked his knuckles.

"Now, let's rattle the Lorns."

[Do you need my help with that, sir?]

Black chuckled. "Don't make me mute you, Gant. Let Daddy flex his muscles a little bit."

His fingers danced over the keys, coding his next move. The only sound in the penthouse was the quiet clacking of keys.

After a few minutes, "You know what, keep their AI defences busy Gant. It's going to be a long—long night."

While Black tracked and attacked his own prey's, across the city, another set of eyes was tracking Jack.

___________________________

The Black Lotus Club pulsed with deep bass, neon lighting cutting through the smoke-filled air. The high-end club catered to the city's elite, a playground for criminals and power brokers alike.

At the very top floor, past layers of security and private rooms, inside a spacious, dimly lit office, filled with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey.

Gervaine, leaned back on his leather chair, exhaling a plume of smoke as he skimmed over financial reports.

A knock came on the door, without looking up. "Come in."

The door opened and a towering figure stepped in, moving with a controlled, almost predatory grace, The Hound—Hrolf Bjornulf.

A Nordic man, broad-shouldered and built like a war machine. Platinum blond hair was slicked back, sharp grey eyes cold and calculating.

He strode forward, placing a sleek memory drive on the Don's desk without a word.

Gervaine looked up, his brows arched,"What is this Hrolf."

"The reports from what I've investigated so far Don." Hrolf replied.

"Forgot about that." Nodding slightly he picked up the drive and plugging it into a port.

The screen lit up with rows of information.

>Name: Jack Vales.

>DOB: March 8, 4072.

Previously employed at VUE Hotel. Fired four days ago. No corporate affiliations.

Stayed at Royale Hotel for two days

Previous residence at The Stacks.

Now residing in Vanguard Heights.

The Don tapped his fingers against the desk, glancing at Hrolf, "After two days this is all you could find, your getting sloppy hound."

"I would've found more, but the kid didn't move for an entire day after he checked into Royale." Hrolf replied with a calm voice.

Gervaine turned his gaze to the last line. "So, this boy… goes from valeting cars in a hotel and living at The stacks to one of the most expensive part in this district?"

He leaned back, picking up a glass, Hrolf moved pouring him a glass, lightly swirling the whiskey in his glass. "What exactly is going on, Ghost?"

Hrolf remained silent.

Gervaine exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Keep watching him, and find out who else is moving the pieces on this board."

Hrolf gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod before turning and walking out.

Gervaine tapped his desk absently, lost in thought.

___________________________

Back at Vanguard Heights penthouse, Black leaned back on the chair, fingers tapping against the keyboard.

"Let's see how Regis handles a little pressure," he murmured.