Chapter Seventy-Four: We're In, Whoever Meddles Gets Their Table Flipped
Section One: No More Playing the Edges
Rustmouth main warehouse, temp war room, night.
Glass reflected map light, three warehouse zones marked S3-A, S3-B, S3-C. Low chairs circled a combat table, Tarn, Jian Ci, Chen Lei, Maria, Zhao Mingxuan all present.
Air thick with wire, dirt, scorched soles. Fresh from the warehouses, no one grabbed water before the meet.
Jason stood before the map, hands behind waist, eyes sweeping each face.
"Today, we held three points," he said.
Silence.
"We didn't kill, but we fought."
"No signs raised, but now anyone eyeing Refinery asks: 'Cleared it with Rustmouth?'"
Maria nodded: "Crowd's defaulted us here."
"That's the problem," Jason paused, voice chilling: "They accept us. TRACE doesn't."
—
Zhao Mingxuan flipped his tablet: "Three change logs came in."
"Reads: 'Frequent mixed faction activity in target zones, recommend reporting as suspect.' Keywords: Rustmouth, lamp control, stationed."
"No names, but they're prepping a case—wait for our slip, they'll clear us out."
Jian Ci cursed: "We stand, they wait for our mistake—what's that game?"
"Playing the edges too long," Jason's voice colder.
"We're not Fire, not a faction, not system, but we're doing what they should've, didn't."
"We're no-name, real impact; unaligned, heard; unclaimed, but they must guard against us."
"Hold this, you're a god."
"Slip once—even not our fault—they'll smite you as one."
—
He scanned the room.
"We can't keep this game."
"Someone fakes our name, one of us loses control, a warehouse accident—they'll order a purge."
Tarn frowned: "Go legit?"
Jason shook: "Not legit."
"We strike first."
—
He turned, pointing a red dot on the map's corner.
"Refinery Zone Control Hub, director Patrick Hayden."
"Handles data, approves orders, passes signatures up."
"Checked him—last year's 'Twin Corridor Transfer Case,' he faked data, buried casualty counts, thirteen dead, logged as accident."
"He's still there because no one called him out."
Maria, low: "You're moving on him?"
"Not moving keeps us reactive," Jason said. "We grab someone, force TRACE brass to weigh—us integrating's better than propping a mess."
"Not negotiation—making negotiation chips."
—
He swept the room: "From tomorrow, collect all Patrick Hayden's data—up, down."
"Who's his, who's his dog, who took his orders, who hid bodies for him."
"We need him unable to say no, not willing to."
—
Zhao Mingxuan opened ARGUS: "I'll set a data chain sim, 'misfire' model."
"One need, we blast his failures to his bosses' channel."
"He balks? We send him to self-defense."
—
Jason nodded: "Step one."
"No underground intel."
"We show Iron Valley—someone up top scrambles to stabilize, we're stabilizing down here."
"No clearance? Fine."
"We force them—default."
—
Under lamplight, Chen Lei fixed a battery for a Warehouse Fourteenth elder, silent. A kid asked: "Who're they?"
Elder, no answer, just: "Why this zone's calm."
Section Two: Not Espionage, Cutting a Breach
Rustmouth main warehouse back hall, one hour post-meeting.
Lights warmed, map rolled up, all scattered but Maria, checking leftover logs. Jian Ci leaned by the sill, one foot propped, eyeing the alley.
Jason returned, left hand pocketed, right placing a list on the table.
"Hayden's frequent contacts."
Maria scanned: "Where're you hitting?"
"Outer ring," Jason said. "Not Hayden yet—his layer's got two clearance gates, data's not local."
"Start here—Norman Crance."
Jian Ci grinned: "His lapdog secretary? Ran Refinery field checks, didn't wash dishes?"
"Right," Jason nodded. "Not a dog—his runner. Executes dark orders."
"Weekly offline data handoff, one segment's non-system."
Maria raised a brow: "Paper?"
"No, old-school nodes. His gen uses 'inactive channels,' grayband comms."
Zhao Mingxuan entered, terminal sim in hand: "Tracked his last offline hop. Likely Refinery southwest old relay tower."
Jian Ci straightened: "I'll go?"
Jason shook: "You're too recognizable."
He turned to Maria: "You lead."
Maria, no pause: "I'll take Eno and Syl."
"Eno poses as tower line tech, Syl scopes perimeter, I make contact."
Jason: "Not for confession—confirm if he's carrying dirty."
Maria, tying tactical gloves: "Leak word?"
"No," Jason said. "No one's clean now."
"See if he's cooperating or blind to our watch."
—
That night, Maria's trio crossed Refinery's south stretch, threading old pipe nets to the tower's fringe.
Air iron-dusted, like rusted blades. All in worn work coats, mock maintenance kits, unchallenged entering.
Maria stood by the tower's rear corner, spotting Norman on time. Black bag, hurried, no guards, steps heavy—late, or burdened.
No direct approach.
She signaled Eno to run a glitch test, lagging tower channels ten seconds.
Syl climbed the opposite factory's upper window, monitoring.
Waiting for Norman's handoff, they caught a twist:
→ No contact.
He pulled a beacon module, slotted it into the tower's base port, dumping data to core memory.
Not a pass—hiding.
Maria, low: "Not handing off—he's burying."
Eno: "Burying what?"
Syl, earpiece: "He's dodging checks—covering tracks."
—
Jason, at main console, heard the report, eyes chilling.
"Not just dirty," he said low. "He's set to blow someone out if chased, with a data virus."
"Hayden's got armor."
Maria: "Flip him now?"
"No," Jason said. "Move him, the tower's data either hurts or burns us."
"Now, we draw the snake."
"Lure Hayden to clear the package himself."
"His hand shows—we've got the chain."
—
Section End:
Tower base, Maria, before pulling back, scratched a mark on the wall.
Rustmouth's field sign: "Active Trap Zone," don't touch, awaits brass detonation.
Section Three: Evidence Buried in Ice, Leverage Forced Out
Refinery tower fringe, night rain paused, tower glowing dim red maintenance lights.
Maria's report done, Jason sat at the console, silent. His gaze fixed on a map's thin line—gray channel from Hayden's office, ending at this tower.
He stared, soft: "He's hiding insurance, not intel."
Zhao Mingxuan neared: "Right—he's shielding from his own higher-ups, not us."
Jian Ci, by the door: "Touch the data?"
"Touch it, we clean his slate," Maria cut in. "He's safe."
Jason looked up, voice calm, edged: "We make him touch it."
—
Rustmouth war console, two hours later.
Jason opened the task list, under "Patrick Hayden," drawing a red line:
[Sub-Task: Trigger Tower Anomaly]
Operator: Lisa Peng
Support: Syl (Infiltration Aid), Zhao Mingxuan (ARGUS Cover)
He turned to Maria: "No field for you tonight."
"Not negotiation, not contact."
"A snake's lured out."
—
Night, Lisa Peng, in mock coat, slipped into Refinery north's exhaust relay well. Well base held an old micro-terminal, tower's backup link, built years ago as EMP-proof grayband failsafe.
No words, hands swift—opened cover, inserted pin, keyed commands.
Ten minutes, tower main console flashed three sync anomalies:
[Tower Voltage Spike × Channel Idle × Storage Self-Jump]
"Suspected Sealed Data Activation"
TRACE Iron Valley Data Center caught the ping.
—
TRACE Data Coordination Center, same night.
Patrick Hayden stared at the screen, sweat beading.
Not a system crash—someone hit his "life-saving" stash.
He kicked his chair, snarling: "All of you, out! I'll handle it!"
Room cleared, hands shaking, he slotted an encryption module into his terminal.
"Patrick, requesting solo tower main access—I'm clearing data!"
—
Rustmouth war room, simultaneous.
Jason watched the screen: "Main Access: PATRICK_HDN · Self-Authorized."
Soft: "He's here."
Zhao Mingxuan, eyes cold: "Chain's locked. He's unpacking his own grave."
—
Lisa Peng pulled her earpiece, exiting the well, rain stopped. Two kids under a shed watched.
She said: "Might be trouble here soon."
"Don't sleep here tonight."
Section Four: Don't Delete, Come Take It, I'll Give You Another
Refinery West, tower main cabin.
Screens whitened, silent, data points pulsing. Core line, a special beacon glowed red—Hayden's "dead-line package," holding a year's "hidden reports," "altered orders," "rogue command chains."
He meant to wipe it, but this time was different.
Cabin control wasn't his alone.
—
"Access Denied."
Red text flashed, his face froze.
Rustmouth's fake loop on the tower's base interface—Hayden's jump channel, but true rights rerouted by ARGUS.
Jason was right.
→ He had to go in person, retrieve the beacon, clear it manually.
Hayden cursed, grabbing his terminal, dialing encrypted comms.
"West Ninth fringe sweep team, two men, meet me at the tower tonight."
—
Same time, Jian Ci sat on Rustmouth war room steps, foot on a tactical bag, rod angled, eyes glinting rare thrill.
Jason stepped out, watching.
"Your team ready?"
"Old spot, locked entry two hours early. He steps within thirty meters, all mobile data's mine."
"How'll you handle?" Jason asked.
Jian Ci grinned: "He's no enemy."
"A data rat. Sees you, he bolts. Stop him, he calls backup."
"So I don't stop."
Jason raised a brow.
"I give him a fuller backup," Jian Ci bit the rod. "Let him know—we've got what he deletes."
"Not that he can't wipe."
"He wants to, he kneels first."
—
Rustmouth prep point, 10:47 PM.
Jian Ci led three to the tower's north exit alley, new man John Wells among them.
Former scout lead, now back, silent, his charged crossbow gleaming.
"Block or watch?" he asked.
Jian Ci: "Block."
"He hits the tower, we hold; he moves outside, he's tampering public gear."
"Officials ask, we say: he's messing with our lamp, we feared a blowout."
"Blowout?" Wells raised a brow.
"We feared his evidence sparking, blowing Iron Valley back a year."
—
10:59 PM, Hayden appeared.
No official garb, just a portable terminal, masked, capped, cutting through an alley. No car—too visible.
At the tower's rear wall, he swiped the beacon port.
Failed.
He froze, about to retry, a voice behind: "Sir, forgot something at home?"
He spun, Jian Ci stepping from the wall, holding an identical data module.
"Here to clear this?"
"Want to check if it's your original?"
Hayden's face paled.
His hand reached inside his coat for a comm.
Jian Ci stepped up, rod pinning his wrist: "Call if you want."
"Thought who explains you sneaking here, 11 PM, wiping data?"
—
Tower's red light flashed.
Wells, at a side passage, comms: "Lockdown done. Any tower glitch is ours now."
"All his moves, logged."
—
Jian Ci stared Hayden down: "You wipe, I let you."
"You run, I hand you keys."
"You want to live—talk who holds the warehouses, who signs orders, who takes the next batch."
"No talk, your bosses read this package."
Hayden's face drained.
Jian Ci, soft: "Not blackmail."
"It's the price for the thirteen lives you buried."
—
Jian Ci opened the module's corner, revealing a high-res face—Hayden's man, "forced eviction screenshot."
"You wiped once."
"We've got the raw backup."
"No second wipe."
Section Five: You Don't Have to Back Me, But You'll Watch My Lead
Two AM, Rustmouth main warehouse lights burned.
Hayden unlocked the tower data, but Rustmouth saw the full backup first. The trap was theirs—lure, block, grant access, cache transfer.
He erased nothing, only proved he touched the package.
—
Jason sat at the console, tea cup in hand, water cold. He watched Hayden's ID blink on ARGUS—not location, but behavior trail.
Zhao Mingxuan, low: "No word to his brass."
"He wouldn't," Jason's eyes fixed. "Report this, it's not 'data cleanup'—it's tampering evidence."
"His only way out…"
Door knocked: "Report, letter delivered."
A handwritten gray envelope, no header, no signature.
Jason took it, one glance: "He's here to talk."
—
Inside, one line:
"No need to clear me, just keep me alive. Alive, I oppose nothing."
—
Rustmouth temp meeting room, 5 AM.
Hayden's "stability plea" on the table, Maria scanned, crisp: "Not joining—compromising."
Jian Ci rolled his eyes: "Guy's untrustworthy."
"We don't need trust," Jason pushed the letter center. "We need him quiet."
"We merge warehouses, he neither signs nor blocks."
"We set lines, posts, he ignores, doesn't report."
"He defaults we're acting—we act."
Zhao Mingxuan: "TRACE internals chase it?"
"He saves himself, he saves us," Jason lowered. "We don't fall, he claims: 'I didn't overstep, I trusted local governance.'"
Maria frowned: "Make the letter public?"
"No," Jason shook. "It's our grip on his lifeline, not crowd propaganda."
"Not time to show our hand."
—
He stood, tearing the letter—one part to the fire basin, one to Zhao Mingxuan, one pocketed.
"Burn what burns."
"Store what stores."
"Keep this—for him to see."
"Whoever moves our warehouses, he faces them. Let's see if he dares."
—
TRACE mid-tier comms room, an agent probed Refinery warehouse control shifts, tagged "unauthorized residency," set to report.
Hayden entered, glanced at the screen, hit "defer."
Calm: "Those zones aren't unclaimed—temp stability phase."
"Don't report. Issues arise, I'm accountable."
No mention of Rustmouth, Jason, lamps, or roles.
He knew, outside this room, he wasn't "accountable"—he was held.