5. Massacre

Finn didn't respond immediately. Instead, he pushed away the table and stood abruptly. The rough scrape of wood against the floor echoed sharply in the now-quiet restaurant. His cold gaze shifted to the girl sprawled on the debris-laden ground. She was still breathing, though barely, her bloodied face turned toward him as if sensing his scrutiny.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable, as if silently demanding confirmation. One million credits. It was an astronomical sum, enough to buy top-tier gadgets or secure a lifetime of luxury. Yet here she was, offering it to him.

One of the agents glanced at the girl, his lips curling into a sneer. "She's lying," he declared confidently, before turning his cold gaze toward Finn. "And even if she does have the amount, it'd be downright foolish for you to step in here."

The girl, her voice weak but defiant, spat back, "Of course I have the money, you bastards! My father owns Linx Company!"

The smirking agent, clearly the leader, chuckled lowly, shaking his head as though amused by her bravado. "That might very well be true," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. He stepped closer to Finn, his posture relaxed yet menacing. "But let me make one thing crystal clear, my guy—you stay out of this. You may not realize it, but we're from Asco Company. And as the commanding officer of this little operation, I'd prefer not to deal with any unnecessary obstacles." His smirk widened, daring Finn to challenge him.

Finn didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stood still, his expression unreadable, as Nexus whispered softly in his mind:

"Assessment complete. Two Class C agents and one Class B. Probability of success against them: 87.3%. Advised course of action: engage only if necessary."

The silence stretched just long enough to unnerve the smirking agent, whose confidence began to waver under Finn's unwavering stare.

"I know," Finn said sternly, his voice devoid of emotion.

The agent didn't even have time to finish his question—"What do you kn…" —before the surrounding air warped with a sudden, crushing force. An invisible magnetic field pressed down on him with overwhelming intensity, forcing his knees to buckle and slamming his hands against the floor. His neck strained as he struggled to lift his head, but the pressure was unrelenting.

"You don't need to know," Finn replied coolly, watching the man writhe under the unseen weight.

The sheer force cracked the tiled floor beneath the agent, debris scattering in all directions. The other two agents reacted instantly, raising their weapons and firing at Finn without hesitation. But their shots were futile. Low-tier energy blasts ricocheted harmlessly off the shimmering barrier of Finn's activated energy shield.

"He is higher ranked than us!" shouted one agent, his voice tinged with panic as he assessed Finn's calm demeanor.

"No shit, Sherlock! Use the Shock wave Gauntlet!" snapped another, his frustration evident.

The second agent's hand shimmered as nanobots coalesced into a sleek gauntlet crackling with energy. Without hesitation, he thrust his arm forward, unleashing a concussive blast that rippled through the air. The shock wave slammed into Finn, forcing him to stagger backward slightly, but not a single scratch marred his composure.

Before anyone could react further, the commanding officer finally broke free from the gravitational force which had been holding him down. His eyes burned with fury as he rose to his feet, brushing debris off his uniform.

"You rich, son of a bitch," he roared, "you will pay for this."

Indeed, he was wealthy, wealthy enough to afford gadgets like the Gravity Manipulator, a tool reserved for those with deep pockets. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He craved more, more power, more than anyone else. In this age, power didn't come from strength alone; it was bought. Without wealth, even the most capable agents were left grasping at scraps, unable to wield the high-tier gadgets that defined the elite.

The commanding officer reached into his Void Cache, pulling out a plasma blade that hummed ominously as it came to life. The weapon was arm-length, glowing with an eerie purple energy that cast flickering shadows across the shattered restaurant. With a sharp bark, he ordered his men, "Back me up, you fools!"

One of the agents responded instantly, hurling a mechanical device resembling a fly toward Finn. It zipped through the air with alarming speed before exploding near Finn's ear in a deafening Bang! Dark smoke billowed outward, quickly engulfing him. 

Without hesitation, the commanding officer lunged into the choking haze, swinging his plasma blade like a madman. Slash after slash tore through the smoke, but none connected. To his growing frustration, Finn dodged every strike, effortlessly, almost lazily, despite the blinding cloud around him. Meanwhile, the other agents watched from outside the smoke, their specialized goggles piercing through the darkness, tracking Finn's movements.

Realizing brute force wasn't working, the officer shifted tactics. He steadied himself, gripping the plasma blade firmly. This time, he struck with precision: a clean slash aimed at Finn's neck. Miss. Another swift cut targeted Finn's wrist. Again, nothing.

It was clear the man had spent years mastering swordplay. But no amount of training could prepare him for someone like Finn.

Finn moved with preternatural calm, bending slightly just as another slash whistled past his neck. In one fluid motion, he countered—a punch straight to the officer's chest, followed by two brutal strikes to his abdomen. Before the officer could recover, Finn drove the edge of his palm into the man's throat. All within seconds.

The protective shield embedded in the officer's collar shattered on contact, but the impacts to his core were devastating. His Vitalis Core faltered, leaving him gasping for breath, unable to wield the plasma blade any longer.

Finn walked toward him slowly, each step deliberate. The remaining agents opened fire, their projectiles sparking harmlessly against his energy shield. The other agents grasped the situation and understood their limitation, they can't fight him physically. 

The commanding officer gasped for breath, desperation clawing at his words. "Wait… please wait! I have a little kid," he stammered, clutching at Finn's arm as if begging for mercy. "I—"

Before he could finish, Finn's hand shot out, gripping the man's neck with mechanical precision. With a swift, merciless twist, the life drained from the officer's eyes, leaving only emptiness behind.

One of the remaining agents, witnessing their leader's brutal demise, froze for a split second before instinct took over. He turned and bolted, adrenaline propelling him toward escape. But Finn wasn't in the mood to let anyone leave alive. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them, moving with unnatural speed that blurred his form.

Finn stepped into the fleeing agent's path, blocking his way. Before the man could react, Finn seized him by the head, lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. With a single, devastating motion, he slammed the agent's skull into the wall. The sickening crunch of bone shattered the air, blood splattering across the surface like macabre art.

The last agent stood frozen, paralyzed by sheer terror. His wide eyes darted to the gruesome scene, a broken body slumped against the wall, crimson streaks painting the surroundings, and then back to Finn, who now stood silently in front of him.

Trembling uncontrollably, the final agent tried to speak but found no words. Finn didn't hesitate. Without a trace of remorse or hesitation, he grabbed the man's head and chin, applying pressure until another sharp snap echoed through the room.

The sound lingered in the stillness, a grim reminder of the massacre.