Chapter 13 - Rogue Protocol.The neon-soaked skyline of Macau reflected in the dark waters of the harbor, a dazzling illusion of wealth that hid a rotting core of corruption.
We arrived under the cover of darkness, utilizing forged diplomatic credentials to bypass the standard customs checkpoints.
Our safehouse was a dilapidated apartment in the heart of the old district, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and cheap noodle broth.
Sterling dropped his heavy canvas duffel bag onto the creaking floorboards, immediately unzipping it to reveal an arsenal of untraceable, black-market weaponry.
“According to the chatter we intercepted on the dark web, the Crimson Lotus is hosting an exclusive, invite-only auction tomorrow night,” Sterling briefed.
“They are going to sell the acoustic cloaking blueprints to the highest bidder, and Arthur is the centerpiece of the presentation.”
I strapped a lightweight Kevlar vest over my torso, checking the fit under the tailored silk evening gown I had purchased for the mission.
“The auction is taking place in the penthouse vault of the Golden Dragon Casino, the most heavily guarded civilian structure in the city,” I noted.
“We have to get past biometric scanners, armed syndicate enforcers, and a localized jamming field that blocks all outside communication.”
“We don't go through the front door; we go through the service tunnels beneath the casino,” Sterling suggested, tossing me a suppressed sidearm.
“I’ll infiltrate the sub-basement and manually disable the jamming field, giving you a five-minute window to access the penthouse network.”
“Once I’m in, I secure the blueprints, grab Arthur, and we exfiltrate via the rooftop helipad,” I finished, memorizing the tactical blueprint on his tablet.
It was a suicide mission by any standard military metric, relying on impossible timing and a terrifying amount of luck.
But as I looked out the grimy window at the flashing lights of the casino in the distance, I felt a calm certainty wash over me.
My father thought he had escaped the reach of American justice by fleeing to this neon sanctuary.
He didn't realize that I wasn't bringing him justice; I was bringing him war.
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I loaded a high-capacity magazine into my pistol, the metallic click echoing loudly in the cramped, silent apartment.
“Time to go to work,” I whispered into the night.
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