The docks dissolved into a haze of weathered, salt-encrusted warehouses as ARIA's navigation carved a sharp westward path, pulling us from the pulsing neon arteries of Los Angeles.

Highways unraveled into serpentine canyons, the Strap Function screaming in overdrive, velocity locked at a sustained 320 MPH. The world collapsed into smeared ribbons of moonlit pavement and jagged cliffs plummeting into the roaring Pacific.

Ozone scorched my throat, slipping past the helmet's filters. G-forces crushed my chest, turning every inhale into a desperate struggle.

Behind us, plasma exhaust etched luminous wounds across the night sky.

Three of them loomed above—silent, omnipresent, their low resonant hum burrowing into bone deeper than the thunder of our engines.

Destination fixed: the mansion anomaly, coordinates throbbing crimson in my HUD. The estate emerged from mist-cloaked hills like a mirage given form—an isolated fortress, vast and alien, as if torn from another dimension and abandoned here.

We shed velocity on a concealed dirt track, thrusters howling in reverse, kicking up a storm of backdraft. Tires clawed into soil, hurling plumes of dust skyward.

The forest engulfed us—towering ancient pines streaking past in violent blurs, branches raking our energy shields in cascades of sparks that flickered and died like brief, suicidal stars.

We stopped in a small clearing. Engines sighed into silence, metal ticking as it cooled.

I swung off the bike, the bikes storage groaned open. Weapons materialized instantly—heavy, matte-black rifles coiled with plasma conduits that thrummed with restrained fury; vibro-knives emitting a high-pitched ultrasonic whine that set my teeth on edge; grenades alive with nano-explosives, their latent power buzzing through the suit's haptic nerves.

I tapped the console.

[Camouflage engaged.]

Nano-swarms surged across the Hunters' chassis, rendering the bikes indistinguishable from bark and shadow—gone to any eye, any sensor.

Perfect phantoms.

Ava stared, her composure fracturing for the first time, even through the opaque visor.

She followed my example, hands betraying a faint tremor as she armed herself: rifle slung across her back, knives locked to her thighs, sidearms riding low on her hips.

The gear integrated seamlessly with her nano-suit, weight distributed as if it had always belonged there.

Her gloved fingers brushed the edge of a vibro-knife. It keened softly, a deadly whisper.

"What… are these?" she asked, voice hushed with something between awe and fear.

"Welcome to the future, agent."

Her eyes narrowed behind the visor, suspicion sharpening her gaze. "I thought every invention of yours had to be cleared through the CIA. Not just the bikes. These weapons…"

I let out a low, shadowed laugh. "There's a lot more where that came from. Far more. Swallow the bitter pill."

She barked a laugh of her own—sharp, edged with disbelief—as she shook her head. "Let's move."

We slipped into the forest like breath on glass, boots silent over carpets of pine needles.

The air hung heavy with resin and the faint, briny bite of the distant Pacific.

Ahead, the perimeter fence rose through the trees: razor wire glinting atop chain-link, sensors pulsing red at regular intervals, the low electric thrum turning the night metallic on the tongue.

Then—a rising whine.

Incoming.

Fast.

A sleek obsidian drone materialized out of empty air, its angular lines catching moonlight like polished obsidian. It hurtled toward us, then braked to a perfect hover at the fence line, motionless for a fraction of a second.

A lattice of crimson lasers snapped to life, carving a molten circle through the metal. Steel liquefied and dripped in glowing rivulets, hissing as it struck the damp earth, sparks scattering like fleeting embers.

Ava flinched, hand flashing to her rifle. "What the hell—"

I spread my arms, grinning behind the helmet. "Meet the EGs."

Silence. Then: "EGs? That's the lamest—wait, what does that even—"

She broke off, laughter bursting out of her as she bent forward slightly.

I exhaled a theatrical sigh. "Eros Guardians. EGs for short."

Her laughter rang louder through the pines. She swiped at her visor as if clearing tears. "You named them after yourself. Of course you did."

"Scout," I ordered, ignoring the jab.

The drone rippled like heat haze, cloaking itself from sight, then vanished forward with a supersonic crack that showered us in loose needles.

I drew the quantum glasses from an inner pocket and slipped them on. Lenses unfolded with a soft mechanical click.

The world transformed—holographic overlays flooding my vision with the EG's live feed: thermal blooms of human bodies in searing orange and red, predictive motion vectors threading through the trees, heartbeats throbbing like war drums in cascading data.

The scan compiled. I smiled.

"Fifty-five guards on the exterior perimeter," I said quietly, eyes tracking the targets painting themselves across my sight. "Heavily armed. Ex-special forces—SAS, Spetsnaz, Delta, GIGN, Shayetet 13. These aren't mall cops. These are apex predators."

Ava's breath hitched. "Fifty-five? Eros—we're dead unless we call the agency. We need a tactical team, air support—"

"That's just the outside," I cut in, voice steady. "Doesn't include whatever's waiting inside. Doesn't include Volkov's team too."

Even through the helmet, I saw the color drain from her face. "Then we need—"

"Good thing we have these." I grinned as two more EGs decloaked from the darkness, thrumming softly as they slid into formation beside the returning scout.

All three hovered in front of me, lenses glowing with cold predatory light.

Ava stared, voice barely above a whisper. "How many of these things do you even—"

"Full combat mode," I commanded.

Their glow shifted to angry crimson—not mere paint, but raw heat bleeding like overdriven systems. Weapon ports irised open along their sleek frames with precise, lethal clicks. The air around them vibrated with contained violence.

Then they vanished—cloaked and gone, ghosts armed for war.

"Ten seconds," I murmured. "Watch."

For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath. Only the whisper of wind in the pines, the far-off murmur of the ocean, and the soft rhythm of our breathing inside the helmets.

Then the screaming began.

Not the sharp crack of gunfire. Not the thunder of explosions. Just raw, guttural screams—choked off almost as soon as they started, brutal and abrupt.

Heavy thuds followed, like a sudden hailstorm of meat and bone striking earth.

No shots to herald the deaths, only the sickening snap of spines, the wet rip of flesh giving way. Fifty-five men gone before their minds could even register the horror descending on them.

Silence slammed down like a blade.

The EGs flickered back into view, but they were wrong now—unsteady in the air, wobbling instead of hovering with perfect grace. Their movements stuttered, jerky and unnatural; their lights pulsed erratically, like stars on the verge of collapse.

"Fifty-five down," I said, scanning the feed scrolling across my glasses. "EGs are spent. That volume of speed, that intensity of kill—it spiked the power draw too hard. They're out of the fight."

The EGs were not to the level of such destruction without a price. What I had ordered was basically sacrificing them to buy us time or to save us unnecessary trouble.

I glanced at the faltering machines. "ARIA, recall them to the estate. Guide them in for repairs."

"Acknowledged," she replied through the neural link, her voice a silken thread in my mind.

Above us, the night sky rippled. Active camouflage disengaged, revealing the carrier as its bay yawned open like a predator's maw.

The three EGs limped inside, battered birds seeking shelter.

The bay sealed with a soft hiss; the carrier rose, cloaked itself again, and vanished.

Ava hadn't moved. Her mouth hung open behind the visor, eyes fixed on me as if I'd just rewritten the laws of reality.

I reached out, gently tapped her chin with a gloved finger to close her jaw.

"Who the hell are you?" she whispered. "Fifty-five ex-spec ops... gone in ten seconds?"

"You're welcome." But I had sacrificed hundred thousands of dollars and my beautiful creations.

I stepped through the molten-edged gap in the fence, wisps of smoke still rising. "From here on, it's just us. Whatever's waiting inside—that's ours."

She followed, boots crunching softly on pine needles, still reeling. "Ten seconds," she muttered. "Jesus fucking Christ. Ten seconds."

I know, hehe.

The mansion rose ahead through the trees—windows black and lifeless, no glow from within, no sign of movement. It waited in perfect silence, a mausoleum pretending to be a home.

But Volkov was inside. Dmitri too, most likely. Along with anyone else who had ten seconds ago believed fifty-five elite guards made them untouchable.

They were wrong.

They were already dead.

We advanced through the shadows to the side entrance—a service door the neural glasses' thermal scans marked as unlocked. The EGs had been flawless: no alarms, no survivors.

Only fifty-five cooling corpses strewn across the grounds like broken dolls.

I touched the handle. Cold, heavy brass—probably worth more than a year's pay for most people.

"Ready?" I asked.

Ava gave her rifle a final check, plasma coils humming low and hungry. "Born ready."

I grinned behind the helmet. "Music to my ears."

The door swung inward without a sound, hinges perfectly oiled.

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