Payne stood like a stone sentinel between them and freedom, the barrel of his pistol jammed hard against Elliot's temple. The man on his knees bled from the mouth and eye, his lip split, his face swollen and mottled purple.
Bobo, Luce, Ryosuke, Amelia, and Mikey froze at the threshold—dust and salt wind rushing in from the docks behind them, but the chill in the air came from the man with the gun.
They didn't move. They didn't breathe.
"You didn't think I'd notice," Payne said, voice gravelly, low. "That I wouldn't figure it out?"
Luce took a single step forward.
Click.
The sound of the pistol's slide snapping back cracked through the air like a thunderclap.
"You take one more step," Payne said calmly, eyes dead, "and his fucking head explodes."
Luce froze, heart in her throat.
On the ground, Elliot looked up through a swollen eye, his face streaked with dirt and regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "He threatened my family…"
His voice cracked under the weight of shame.
Bobo and Luce exchanged a look—one of grim understanding. Not forgiveness, not yet. But they knew what desperation could make a man do.
Payne exhaled through his nose. He almost looked bored. His hand slid down to the radio on his belt, clicked it to life.
"I got 'em," he said. "Send ten."
A burst of static answered him.
Then his gaze swept across the five of them like a hunter savoring the kill.
"This is quite the group," he muttered, chuckling. "HAH! Look at you. Like a fucking comic book lineup."
He raised a finger, pointing at Bobo first.
"Silver Arm Bo. Robert Presley. Couldn't resist blowing more shit up, huh?"
Then at Luce.
"The Engineer of the Resistance. Luciana Corrine. Been hunting you for months. You left a trail of fried towers and scrapped drones all over the sectors."
Next, Ryosuke.
"The Phantom of Hiroki. Ryosuke Saito. All the Hiroki people we captured said you were a spirit of vengeance, that would would save them. Guess the rumors will fall on deaf ears."
Then Amelia. His eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"And you. The spy. Nadia. I never got your real name. Maybe I'll carve it out of you later."
He turned last to Mikey—and for the first time, the smugness dropped. A darkness crept in.
His voice dropped to a whisper laced with venom.
"Michael Grant. I told you to live your life. To go be ordinary. And here you are—back in the mud with the rest of the filth. You wasted it."
A pause.
"Now you'll die like a dog. Just like your father. Or maybe you'll beg. Like Darla did."
Mikey's fists clenched. His jaw tightened until it trembled. That name—Darla—cut through him like a blade dipped in acid. His boot scraped forward.
WHACK.
Elliot cried out as Payne backhanded him across the face with the pistol. Blood sprayed onto the cracked dock tiles.
"I said," Payne hissed, "take another step, and he's fucked."
Mikey stopped, seething, his breath shallow. He looked like he might explode, but he held it—barely.
The others stood behind him, trembling with the same restraint. Ryosuke's fingers twitched toward his sword. Luce's thumb hovered near her holster. Bobo was measuring distance. Amelia was burning holes through Payne with her glare.
Then Payne's expression shifted.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Focused.
"You must be…" he said slowly, lips curling, "you must be Desmond's friends."
He let out a dry, wheezing laugh. "You all know each other. All of you. I knew it. Just proved a theory of mine."
And then—
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Ten soldiers stormed out from the inner gate of Ward 1, rifles raised, armor catching the bleak light off the bay.
They fanned out around Payne, surrounding the group in a semicircle.
Their guns locked into place with cold mechanical clicks. Trained right on Bobo, Luce, Ryosuke, Amelia… and Mikey.
The moment teetered on a knife's edge.
Mikey didn't blink.
Luce's voice was steel: "Let him go, Payne."
Payne tilted his head, that ghost-smile back on his face.
"Why would I?" he said. "He's the only thing keeping you 'heroes' from trying to be brave."
Elliot's breathing slowed. He closed his eyes.
A storm was coming.
And the trigger had already been half-pulled.
Payne was mid-rant, savoring the fear, the helplessness—the power. His words dripped with contempt, every sentence a hook meant to twist the knife deeper.
But Elliot was no longer listening.
Blood ran from his split lip, but his eyes—those eyes—were clear. Focused.
He looked at Luce and Bobo, and with lips trembling and bruised, he mouthed the words:
"Tell my family I love them... and I'm sorry."
Luce's breath caught in her throat.
"No—Elliot, no!" she cried, surging forward.
But it was already in motion.
With a roar of desperation, Elliot lunged upward and grabbed Payne's wrist with both hands, wrenching the gun sideways. The muzzle scraped against his temple as he fought to push it away.
The team exploded into motion, muscle and instinct igniting as one.
Ryosuke and Bobo dove at the nearest soldiers. Mikey sprinted low, Luce's pistols swung up, Amelia unsheathed her blade with a hiss.
Elliot threw a punch at Payne's jaw—raw, desperate.
But Payne was faster.
He pivoted, caught Elliot's fist mid-air, and drove a boot straight into Elliot's knee with a sickening crack. Elliot howled as his leg buckled. Payne followed with a brutal elbow to the face, cracking bone against bone, sending blood flying.
The gun came free.
Payne aimed.
BANG.
The sound rang like a bell toll across the dock.
Elliot stood there for a split second, dazed… then his eyes rolled back.
A neat hole bloomed in the center of his forehead.
He fell. Like a puppet with its strings cut.
His body crumpled to the dock in silence.
Luce screamed.
"NO!!"
"Fuck!" Bobo roared, fists clenched, grief igniting fury.
"Eli!" Amelia called out, voice breaking as she dropped behind cover.
Payne loomed over the body like it meant nothing.
"For nothing," he grimaced.
Then he raised his head—and spat on Elliot's corpse.
Rage ignited like firecrackers in their veins.
He turned his gun to them—just as something obsidian flashed through the air.
CLANK—SCHHLUCK!
Ryosuke's blade sang as it flew through the air and collided with Payne's hand, severing two of his fingers clean off. The gun spun from his grip and clattered to the ground, blood spraying across the tiles.
"You demon!" Ryosuke bellowed as he charged.
They collided like titans.
Payne threw a wild hook—Ryosuke caught it and twisted. His cybernetic arm slammed upward into Payne's gut. Payne grunted, blocked, and retaliated with a savage knee into Ryosuke's ribs, snapping cartilage. Ryosuke winced, then snarled and slammed his fist into Payne's jaw, sending him stumbling.
But Payne planted a foot and checked Ryosuke sideways into a steel crate with a loud crack.
Behind them, the docks erupted into chaos.
Bobo tackled a soldier, ripping his rifle away and bludgeoning him across the skull. The helmet cracked open. Blood sprayed. The soldier dropped like dead weight.
Amelia dove low, her knife slicing tendons and ankles. One screamed, crumpling; another tried to swing, but she ducked and drove the blade straight into his stomach, twisting.
Mikey tackled a soldier by the knees, bringing him down hard. Rage thundered in Mikey's chest. His hands found the man's rifle—he wrenched it free and unloaded into the soldier's face, screaming as the shots rang out again and again.
BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.
Luce snapped shots with mechanical precision. One soldier's helmet burst with a red mist. She ducked, rolled behind the fallen body, using it as cover while returning fire, her fingers dancing over her weapon's mechanism.
But the cost was heavy.
Bobo screamed as a bullet grazed his side and then another one to his shoulder, searing through flesh. Blood dripped onto his silver prosthetic.
Amelia cried out as a soldier's fist smashed into her jaw—she staggered, spit flying from her mouth.
Mikey was kicked hard in the ribs by another grunt. He collapsed to the side, gasping.
Luce was tackled and slammed hard against the concrete, her weapon skidding from her hand. She rolled away just in time as bullets tore into the ground where her head had been.
Still—they fought. Still—they rose. Their grief had become fire in their blood.
Ryosuke rose again, his ribs screaming, his breath ragged.
He jabbed Payne with his left. The strike connected. Payne stumbled.
But then Payne surged back like a bull, teeth gritted, eyes wild. Ryosuke raised his cybernetic arm for a crushing right hook—
Payne weaved under it, grabbed his wrist mid-swing and twisted violently.
CRACK.
"AGHHH!" Ryosuke howled as Payne snapped the metallic elbow joint clean in half.
Then he yanked Ryosuke forward and slammed his forehead into Ryosuke's face—once, twice, three times.
Blood splattered.
Ryosuke dropped to one knee, blinking through a haze.
Payne stood over him now, panting, fingers bloodied and half gone, grinning like the devil himself.
But even surrounded, even battered—they were not broken.
The war wasn't over.
Not yet.
And Elliot's blood still steamed on the dock.
Payne loomed over Ryosuke like a judge passing sentence.
He reached down and picked up the katana—Ryosuke's own blade—running his hand over the hilt like it belonged to him.
The gleam of steel caught the dim dock lights.
"You fought hard," Payne sneered. "But your people will never be avenged."
He raised the sword high.
BAM!
Payne's body crunched as Bobo slammed into him like a freight train, shoulder-first, launching him into a rusted shipping crate with a metallic shriek.
The blade clattered—but Payne held on.
Ryosuke grunted, pulling himself up from the floor, blood trailing from his mouth.
He saw the sword still in Payne's grip.
"No more," he growled.
He charged.
Bobo did too.
Payne stumbled from the crate, sword raised. It was heavier than he expected—not made for his grip. His swing was wide, wild—
Whoosh!
Ryosuke ducked just in time, sliding beneath the arc and driving his fist straight into Payne's gut.
Thud!
Payne grunted but didn't fall.
From behind, Bobo wrapped both arms around him, locking him in place.
"Now, Ryo!" Bobo roared.
Payne roared back, swinging the blade at Ryosuke.
CLANG!
Ryosuke raised what remained of his cybernetic arm, the blade biting into the metal and sparking—but holding.
Payne snarled, straining, trying to twist free.
From across the dock, Mikey raised his pistol with shaking hands.
BANG!
The shot cracked through the chaos, striking Payne in the ribs.
"RAHH!!"
Payne howled, pain coursing through him. Blood began to leak through his ruined suit.
But it only made him angrier.
He bucked his legs and kicked Ryosuke backward, the impact jarring the katana loose—Ryosuke snatched it mid-fall.
Payne snarled, wrenching himself from Bobo's grip. With a sharp spin, he heel-kicked Bobo in the gut, sending the big man staggering back.
But Bobo wasn't done.
"PAYNE!" he shouted, charging with his cybernetic arm cocked.
He swung down.
Payne sidestepped and grabbed the damaged arm mid-air, twisting with a vicious torque—CRACK—and ripped it free from Bobo's shoulder with a shower of sparks and torn wires.
"GRAHHHH!!" Bobo screamed in agony, collapsing to a knee.
Payne grinned, feral and bloody, holding the heavy silver limb like a war club.
He swung it.
CRACK!
The metal arm slammed across Bobo's face, knocking him to the ground, dazed.
Ryosuke roared and charged, katana high.
SCHLASH!
Payne blocked it with Bobo's own severed arm—blade on steel, sparks flying.
They locked.
Ryosuke slipped low, pivoted, and drove the blade toward Payne's heart.
Payne twisted at the last second, the tip grazing his side. With a roar, he jammed the metal limb down, pinning Ryosuke's blade—and locking Ryosuke in place.
WHAM!
A brutal headbutt cracked across Ryosuke's skull. Blood sprayed.
THUMP!
Payne kicked Ryosuke off his feet.
Now standing alone, chest heaving, face soaked in blood and sweat, Payne turned just in time to hear the click-click-click of Luce's pistols.
"FUCK YOU!!" she screamed.
She unloaded.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Rounds tore toward him—Payne raised the cybernetic arm as a shield and charged.
BOOM!
He slammed into Luce like a cannonball, the metal limb smashing into her chest and sending her flying across the dock. She slammed into the wall with a dull crack, her guns skidding away.
Before she could breathe, Payne was already turning.
"GET OFF!"
Amelia had leapt onto his back, dagger in hand, trying to stab into his neck. He smashed her into a steel crate once, twice, the dents deepening with each impact.
She started to slide down—
THWACK! A brutal kick to the face sent her sprawling, unconscious or worse.
Mikey stepped in, rage boiling, firing his pistol—
BANG! BANG!
Missed.
"FUCK!" he shouted.
Payne's head turned toward him.
Mikey froze.
"Ah… the son," Payne grinned, blood between his teeth.
He stormed toward him, shielding himself with Bobo's arm like a battering ram.
Mikey raised the pistol again—
CLANG! Payne batted it away.
Mikey ducked under the next swing and drove a fist into Payne's jaw.
Payne didn't flinch. Not even a blink.
Instead, he grinned wider.
"Please."
He swept Mikey's leg.
Mikey collapsed.
Then—WHAM!
Payne brought the cybernetic arm down on Mikey's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Mikey coughed, wheezed.
Payne leaned over him, towering, bloodied, unstoppable.
"You got your wish, kid."
And he raised the metal arm again.
SLASH!
"AHHHHH!" Payne's shriek echoed into the night as his hand hit the floor—cleanly severed.
Ryosuke stood over him, katana gleaming, blood dripping from the edge.
Before Payne could even react, Ryosuke's cybernetic leg launched into his chest—
WHUMP!
The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him skidding across the rain-slick dock, leaving a crimson trail behind him.
He roared in agony, writhing, sputtering curses.
Mikey stood now—bloodied, limping, but breathing. He reached down, grabbed a fallen pistol, and took aim.
BANG!
Payne's scream cut through the storm as the bullet tore into his thigh. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" he howled. "I'LL GUT EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"
But he couldn't get up. His hand was gone. His leg was mangled. And now…
They were surrounding him.
Five shadows closing in.
Wounded. Bleeding. Unrelenting.
Bobo's one arm hung uselessly by his side, blood matting his temple. Luce's uniform was torn, soaked in sweat and someone else's blood. Amelia's knife dripped, her face cracked and bruised. Ryosuke was clutching his ribs, chest heaving. Mikey—gun drawn—stood in front of them all.
And Payne?
Just a trembling mess on the floor.
Mikey moved forward, each step radiating fury. He leveled the barrel of the pistol straight at Payne's temple.
"You're dead."
Payne let out a wheeze—then laughed.
The laugh of a dying man who knew something they didn't.
"Dead? What—you expect me to beg? Like your mother?" he spat. "Or scream like your father? You're as dumb as they come, you idiotic fuck."
Mikey didn't blink. Just slowly pulled the slide back with a click.
"Shut up. You piece of shit."
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening crack of thunder split the sky, so loud it felt like it shook the dock itself.
Clouds churned above. Ominous. Supernatural.
Lightning split the night again, closer this time.
Payne's blood-smeared lips curled into a devilish smile.
"Finally…"
The air around them shifted. Thick. Electric. Wrong.
The others froze.
Payne's eyes flicked toward the clouds, his body trembling with pain—but his smile growing wider.
"He's late," he croaked.
"Who?!" Mikey barked, pistol shaking now as he pressed it to Payne's forehead.
Payne looked at him—calm. Still smirking.
"Mako."
That name hung like poison in the air.
Bobo's breath caught. His eyes went wide.
"Mako?! We gotta get the hell outta here. Now."
CRACK-BOOM!
Lightning erupted just above them.
And then—something fell from the sky.
A blur of motion—a man, descending in a streak of thunder and raw voltage, wrapped in crackling electricity.
BAM!!
He landed behind them like a meteor. The dock groaned beneath his boots. Smoke and steam hissed outward from the impact.
A stunned silence.
The floodlights overhead flickered, then adjusted—cutting through the smoke with white beams that outlined the silhouette of a single figure.
He stepped forward.
Mikey's blood ran cold.
That uniform...
A crisp white military coat, almost spotless, cinched with a jet-black utility belt. Black tactical trousers tapered at the calves, vanishing into knee-high matte combat boots. A white visor cap sat cocked on his head, the brim shadowing his eyes just enough to make the glow behind them feel inhuman.
A Director...
He wasn't tall like Kael. He was Mikey's height. And… appeared his age. But there was nothing young about him.
He had smooth pale skin, with sharp features and a distinct East-Asian appearance—cold, elegant, cruel.
His eyes burned a sickly yellow, rimmed in shadow like he hadn't slept in days. His long black hair fell to his shoulders, slightly wind-swept from the descent, and not a strand out of place.
And on his face—
A smile.
One that Mikey never saw Kael have. Not mechanical. Not forced.
Excited.
Amused.
Almost like he'd shown up to watch a magic trick.
He strode forward, posture casual, steps deliberate.
Payne looked up from the ground, still bleeding—his face now contorting in excitement and relief. "Sup, Payne," the figure said, voice youthful yet raspy and vile. "You look terrible."