Bargaining chip

Chapter 12

The sun hung low on the horizon as the brutal training session finally ended. Ronan wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing steady despite the hours of relentless combat drills. His muscles ached, but strangely, he didn't feel fatigued. Instead, a simmering energy thrummed through him, as if his body had become a well-oiled machine that didn't know the meaning of exhaustion.

Theo walked up with a grin, tossing him a bottle of water. "Damn, newbie. You didn't die. That's impressive."

Ronan caught the bottle and took a long gulp, the cold liquid a refreshing contrast to the heat still clinging to his skin. "Yeah. Thought I might, a couple of times."

Casey approached next, wiping her face with a towel. "Trust me, if you survived Jordan's training on day one, you're probably not human."

Jordan's voice cut through their chatter like a blade. "That's enough." He stepped forward, his usual stern expression unwavering. "We're done for today. You didn't collapse or lose focus, which means you're not entirely useless. But don't get comfortable. Tomorrow, you'll be fighting one of your teammates. Real combat. No holding back."

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

Jordan gave a short nod toward Diana. "She'll pick the opponent. Be prepared."

Diana gave a half-smirk. "Don't lose, Ronan. It's not a good look."

Theo slapped him on the back with a wide grin. "Yeah, don't make us look bad, newbie. I'd hate to see you get your ass handed to you."

Ronan just nodded, hiding the odd sense of satisfaction coursing through him. He didn't feel the usual exhaustion that followed intense training—more like his body had gotten stronger, more resilient. The realization brought a faint, almost relieved smile to his face. It wasn't just about the thrill of survival anymore. Maybe the system wasn't solely driven by bloodlust—maybe it was reshaping him into something more durable, more unstoppable.

Jordan gave one last look before walking off. "Get some rest. You'll need it."

One by one, the others headed out, giving Ronan various nods of encouragement or playful insults, but he barely noticed. His mind kept replaying that strange, limitless energy coursing through him. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried about it.

---

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Ronan made his way out of the facility. As he flagged down a taxi and slid into the back seat.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his face shadowed by a baseball cap. "Where to?"

Ronan gave his address and settled back, the city lights flickering past the window. He couldn't help but feel a sense of paranoia prickling at the back of his mind. His instincts had been sharper lately—more alert to danger. Something felt off.

After a few minutes, Ronan frowned, noticing the driver take an unexpected turn. He straightened up, his senses sharpening. "You missed the turn," he said, his voice low but firm.

The driver didn't respond—just kept driving. Ronan's fingers twitched, and he leaned forward. "Hey, I said you missed the turn."

The driver's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. After a long pause, he spoke in a voice that sent a chill down Ronan's spine. "Don't try anything funny, Vale. We have your son, so keep it down and come with me peacefully, and we won't hurt him. Our boss wants to see you."

Everything went quiet—deadly, suffocating quiet. Ronan's heart didn't even pound. His entire body went cold, his eyes darkening as rage clawed its way up his throat. His son. Why did they always go after his son? Did they think they could just use him like a bargaining chip every time they wanted something? It was sickening.

He forced his jaw to unclench, but his hands were already balled into fists. He didn't respond—didn't dare let the driver see the murderous intent in his eyes. If they'd harmed his son, no amount of begging or pleading would save them.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. Ronan kept his expression neutral, but his thoughts raced. His son—again. It didn't matter how much he tried to cut ties with his old life; they always found a way to drag him back. The kid was his only weakness, and they knew it. That's why they kept using him—dangling his life like a carrot to keep Ronan in line.

The car pulled up to a massive facility, and Ronan's gut twisted when he recognized the logo stamped on the iron gates. The same lab that had cost him his life—the one that had been experimenting on humans. The place that turned him into whatever he was now.

"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath. Of all places, why here? Hadn't this place been shut down? Or were they just operating under the radar now, moving like cockroaches after the lights went out?

The car stopped, and the driver nodded toward the entrance. "Out. Now."

Ronan didn't move at first, eyes scanning the surroundings. Guards patrolled the perimeter, armed and alert. No way he'd get far without being riddled with bullets. As much as he wanted to snap the driver's neck right then and there, it wasn't time. He stepped out, hands loose at his sides, forcing his mind to clear. He couldn't afford to lose it now.

A burly guard approached and jerked his chin toward the building. "Move."

Ronan didn't respond, just followed without a word. They led him through a maze of corridors until they stopped at a set of double doors. One of the guards knocked twice, and a deep, commanding voice called from the other side.

"Come in."

The doors swung open, and Ronan stepped inside. The office was spacious, with sleek metal furnishings and dim, artificial lighting that gave the room an unsettling vibe. Behind a massive desk sat a man in his forties—sharp suit, neatly trimmed beard, and cold, calculating eyes that didn't match his forced smile.

"Vale," the man greeted, voice smooth but laced with condescension. "Glad you decided to cooperate."

Ronan didn't sit. He just stared the man down, his gaze like ice. "Where's my son?"

The man didn't falter. "Safe. For now. Sit."

Ronan didn't move, his jaw tightening. "If he's hurt—"

"Relax." The man raised a hand as if to calm him. "We're not savages. We just need your... assistance."

Ronan let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Assistance. Right. You already killed me once, remember? Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to do you any favors."

The man's eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed by Ronan's attitude. "You're in no position to bargain. Your kid's life is hanging by a thread. Whether he lives or dies depends on how cooperative you are."

Ronan's expression didn't change. Cold, detached—his eyes never leaving the man's face. "Spare me the threats and get to the point."

The man leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "We want information. You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong—tracking down people, digging into data that's classified. We can't have that. You'll tell us everything you know about the system users you've encountered, and in return, your son goes home untouched."

Ronan's eyes tensed, they knew? But how? He had made sure to hide his tracks. They wanted information about other system users? Was that what this was about?

He gave a slow, deliberate smirk. "And if I say no?"

The man's expression hardened. "Then your son dies. Simple as that."

Ronan's eyes stayed locked on him, cold and unyielding. "Funny how you think I'm scared of you. You really don't get it, do you?" He took a step forward, voice dropping to a deadly tone. "If anything happens to my son, I'm going to wipe this place off the map. You. Your men. This whole operation will be gone within minutes."

The man didn't look impressed. "Big talk from a dead man walking. You're not invincible, Vale. We know your limits. We've got enough firepower here to bury you a hundred times over."

Ronan let out a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Losing his temper wouldn't do any good. These people were scum—using a child as leverage to get what they wanted. He was done playing nice.

"Here's what's going to happen," Ronan said, voice low and firm. "You're going to take me to my son. Right now. You don't want to piss me off any more than you already have."

The man smirked, clearly amused. "I think you're confused about who's in charge here."

Ronan shot him a look so cold it could freeze lava. "I'm done talking."

Silence hung in the room, thick and suffocating. Finally, the man motioned to the guard at the door. "Take him to the boy. Let him see we're not bluffing."

Ronan didn't move until the guard gestured for him to follow. As they walked through the corridors, he kept his senses sharp, marking every exit, every armed guard, every camera. The plan was already forming in his head—he just needed to see his son first. Once he knew the kid was safe, hell would break loose.

And this time, he wasn't going to let anyone walk away alive.