Outskirts of Vespera City.
Far from the glittering nightlife and loud streets, the industrial zone stood silent under a pale sky. Massive structures stretched across the land, surrounded by high fences and ard security towers.
At the center of it all stood the Mordecai Arms and Ammunition Manufacturing Facility.
A fortress disguised as industry.
A convoy rolled through the gates.
Black vehicles.
Ard escorts.
And from the lead car stepped out Jax Mordecai.
Dressed sharply.
Composed.
Dangerous.
n with weapons followed behind him, scanning every corner as he walked forward without slowing down.
His phone was pressed against his ear.
The line connected.
A voice answered with a hint of amusent.
"What a surprise. Who called today... Jax Mordecai himself."
Jax smirked faintly.
"Victor Wraithebourne... getting old already?"
Victor’s voice carried calm confidence.
"What is wrong with retiring? The Wraithebourne Group is growing well under my daughter."
Jax walked through the entrance doors, his shoes echoing against the tal flooring.
"But you lost to us."
His tone sharpened.
"I never imagined you would sell the weapons business your father built his entire life."
Victor did not hesitate.
"Yes, I sold it."
A pause.
"And even if it is not mine anymore, it is still growing. Rising. Securing governnt contracts."
His voice lowered slightly.
"You will always remain second in this race."
Jax let out a short laugh.
"Sterling Enterprises?"
His eyes narrowed.
"The sa company that was buried years ago?"
His voice turned darker.
"The people who ran it... their souls were reaped one by one."
A pause.
"Even if you do not tell ... whoever is running it now will be buried again."
Victor suddenly laughed.
A deep, unrestrained laugh.
It echoed through the call.
"I do not know what history you have with the old Sterling family."
His tone changed.
"But if you think the one running it now is easy to deal with..."
A brief silence.
"Then let tell you sothing."
"You will not be able to lay a single finger on him."
Jax stopped walking.
Victor’s voice grew heavier.
"He is not Timothy."
"He is not Edward."
A pause.
"He is a mountain."
"And it will take generations of Mordecais to even move him."
Silence.
Thick.
Cold.
Then Jax spoke quietly.
"Sounds interesting."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Let us see how that mountain sounds... when bombs fall on it."
The call ended.
Jax lowered the phone slowly.
His expression hardened.
"What was that attitude..."
A quiet anger simred beneath his calm.
"Victor Wraithebourne... you will soon realize the mistake you made."
He moved forward again.
.....
Inside the facility, the air changed.
The sll hit instantly.
Oil.
Burnt tal.
Gunpowder residue.
The constant hum of machines filled the massive hall.
Heavy presses slamd tal into shape.
Sparks flew as workers welded parts together.
Conveyor belts moved in endless motion.
Rows of workers stood at stations, assembling weapons piece by piece with chanical precision.
Barrels.
Triggers.
Magazines.
Each component crafted, inspected, and passed forward.
Crates of finished rifles lined the walls.
Stacks of ammunition packed tightly in sealed containers.
The rhythm of production never stopped.
It felt less like a factory.
More like a machine built for war.
A man approached quickly, lowering his head slightly.
"Mr. Mordecai."
Jax glanced at him.
"Is the consignnt ready?"
"Yes, sir. It will be shipped to Iran soon."
Jax nodded once.
"Did they pay for the last transaction?"
"Yes, sir. We received full paynt. They have also paid in advance for this shipnt."
A faint smile appeared on Jax’s face.
"Good."
He continued walking.
"This year will generate more revenue than ever."
His voice carried quiet satisfaction.
"Wars can always be created.
A pause.
"And a war without weapons... is already lost."
They stopped in front of a large reinforced door.
Cold steel.
No windows.
No markings.
The man stepped forward
Placed his hand on the biotric scanner.
A soft beep followed.
The door unlocked.
Slowly opening.
Jax stepped inside.
....
The atmosphere inside was completely different.
Bright lights.
Sterile white walls.
A laboratory.
But not an ordinary one.
Rows of beds filled the room.
People lay on them.
Unconscious.
Connected to machines.
Monitors beeped steadily.
IV lines ran into their veins.
Doctors and nurses moved around, observing, recording, adjusting.
It looked like a hospital.
But it felt wrong.
Very wrong.
An older man in a white coat approached Jax quickly.
His eyes carried excitent.
"Boss... you ca at the right ti."
He adjusted his glasses, almost eager.
"The formula you provided... it is extrely lethal."
Jax’s eyes shifted toward the test subjects.
The doctor continued.
"With a single dose, their organs begin to fail gradually. Day by day."
He lowered his voice.
"And there is no trace of it left in their bodies."
A pause.
"It is completely undetectable.
His curiosity surfaced.
"Where did you get sothing like this?"
Jax let out a slow, cold laugh.
He walked forward, stopping beside one of the beds.
Looking down at the unconscious body.
"So it works..."
His fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the bed.
"My nephew... Kyle... gave this formula."
A faint smirk ford.
"He said he was working on an airborne variant."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"But before he could show it to ..."
A pause.
"He disappeared."
Jax straightened slowly.
His gaze swept across the room.
Dozens of bodies.
Endless possibilities.
"This will be..."
....
Miles leaned back in his chair, the city stretching far beyond the glass wall behind him, his phone still warm in his hand as the call ended.
"Thanks uncle Victor, I will take care. Do not worry."
Victor’s voice had carried confidence even through the line.
"If you need anything, call ."
"Thanks."
The silence returned.
Miles lowered the phone slowly, his expression calm but his eyes sharp, calculating every piece that had just fallen into place.
He turned his head slightly.
"Did you note it?"
June stood near the desk, a laptop in her hand, already working.
"Yes."
Miles tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest.
"That is Jax Mordecai’s number."
A faint pause.
"Send it to Charles. Ask him if he can get sothing out of it."
June nodded.
"Alright boss."
She turned, typing quickly, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The room was quiet again, only the soft hum of the office equipnt filling the space.
But she stopped midway.
Looked back at him.
"Boss... can I say sothing?"
Miles glanced at her.
"Yes."
June hesitated for a brief second, then spoke honestly.
"You should take so rest.
Her voice was calm, but firm.
"You have been constantly busy since coming back from that deadly forest. I know all of this is important..."
She stepped a little closer.
"But you have the best people working for you."
A soft smile appeared on her face.
"Why not use the weekend tomorrow to actually sleep properly?"
Miles looked at her for a mont
Then his gaze drifted toward the window.
The city.
The movent.
The endless responsibilities.
A quiet breath escaped him.
"Thanks for worrying.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Mom was saying the sa thing this morning after Silvey left."
He leaned back further.
"Maybe I should stop worrying about everyone around ."
June smiled gently, satisfied.
The weight in the room eased just a little.
...
Citadel City.
The air felt heavier.
Colder.
More dangerous.
Basil stepped out of a dim building, boots hitting the concrete steps one after another. His n followed behind him, alert, scanning every corner of the street.
In one hand, he held binoculars.
In the other, a phone that had just begun to ring.
He answered imdiately.
"Thea."
Her voice ca through, sharp and direct.
"Did you find him?
Basil walked forward, eyes already scanning distant rooftops.
"We found the place where he might be."
A pause.
"Then take him out."
Basil stopped for a mont.
His expression tightened.
"I am afraid it is not that simple."
He exhaled slowly.
"I need more people. And planning."
Silence lingered for half a second.
Then...
Another voice cut in.
"Leave that to us."
Basil’s head turned instantly.
From the side, a man stepped forward.
Calm.
Steady.
But the air around him shifted the mont he appeared.
An aura of command.
Of absolute control.
Basil’s eyes widened slightly.
"You are... Com... Commander Ray... from the Graveyard..."
The call ended in his hand without him noticing.
Ray stopped a few steps away.
His gaze steady.
"Do not worry."
His voice carried quiet authority.
"Ghost asked to co here."
A faint pause.
"He found your man before you could."
Basil’s grip on the binoculars tightened.
Ray continued.
"The extraction is tonight."
His eyes locked onto Basil.
"Watch... or join."
"Your choice."
Basil stared at him for a mont.
Then a small smile appeared.
"I did not know he would involve Graveyard in this."
Ray’s lips curved slightly.
"What is wrong with asking help from family?"
A brief silence.
"Do not forget..."
His voice lowered just a little.
"Even if he is retired..."
A pause.
"He is still the Ghost of the Graveyard."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Basil exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders.
"I am not worried about that now."
His eyes sharpened again.
"Just bring the Grandmaster out."
Ray nodded once.
"Leave it to us."
The wind passed through the empty street, carrying a strange stillness with it.
...
Across cities.
Across continents.
Phones rang today.
Orders were given.
Plans were set into motion.
Invisible threads began to tighten.
And sowhere beneath it all...
A storm was rising.
The war had already begun.
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